The Green and the Blue
by MarquessaS
Summary: After the trials they'd endured earlier,  the brothers head to Florida for some down-time.  Second tale in a linked series.
1. Chapter 1

PART 1

The brothers passed the first hour of their journey in silence. Both were deep in thought about their experiences, about the leaving—about the future. The fact that they were still somewhat hung over only added to the pall hanging over the starting leg of the trip.

The words_ Florida, and then what-_? rolled over and over in Sam's mind. The time leading up to their going away bash had been a comforting buffer zone that had kept him from worrying over precisely that question. Now the uncertain future was an open maw in front of them—about to swallow them whole.

And they would face it alone again.

He tried to shake himself out of the funk—thinking instead about their destination, and the people who would greet them.

Bobby had described Sally as the tough one of the two women. An artist—a successful one, apparently. He wondered what style she painted in. It wasn't Bateman or Trish Romance, by Bobby's description. He was interested in seeing her work, he'd google her name later to see if there were any examples.

And then there was the mysterious Emily. So far she'd been described to him as interesting, spooky, odd, and a sweetie. A sixty-plus year old doll with a heart of gold who happened to be blind, and happened to see auras, some of which warned of danger. He was really interested in meeting her. Having his own latent abilities, he had an open and hungry mind regarding this sort of phenomena.

Dean had already written her off an a nut-case. Sam was always puzzled by his need to close his mind to certain possibilities. Like divinity, for instance, or angels. He guessed it frightened him. All Dean knew were examples of dark works. He understood them well; knew how to deal with them. The power of good working in the world, in any form, was too alien. He didn't have a clue how to react to it.

But again he was traveling down that road. He mentally switched gears.

The cottage too, sounded intriguing. For starters, the name—Jezebel. A wicked, or shameless woman. What was that about? Must be an interesting tale behind it.

The cottage itself, fairly tired looking, old, and in need of some overdue maintenance, still had a faded charm. Described as an early Cracker house. He liked the thought of its wrap-around porch and fretted gingerbread trim. That was another thing Bobby had alluded to, some underlying reason that they were offered it in particular.

_A little mystery will be good_—he thought. He needed some mental stimulation for a change. Being in the safety of David's place was comfort, but he had nothing to divert his mind while he was there.

He knew that Dean, once he was reasonably on the road to recovery, had been bored to distraction as well. And a bored Dean is a very bad thing…..

Dean snorked and stirred beside him. He had drifted off, head at an uncomfortable looking angle, sunglasses askew. He was shifting in discomfort, trying to alleviate the knee-ache that bothered him since last night. _Shouldn't have done that last bit of dancing, buddy._

Sam wondered if he even remembered it. He'd be more than happy to remind him, he had it on David's camera. He smiled at the thought of receiving that email soon. Sponge-Boy was gonna be mortified…Lots of extortion possibilities there...

The sleeper groaned and stretched, and looked over at Sam. "Sorry, Sam. Want me to take over for a while?"

Sam couldn't help but snicker at the well defined door lock imprint on Dean's cheek. "No. I'm ok...maybe after we grab some supper. How's the knee? You could stretch out on the bench seat if you need to."

Dean shook his head. As good as that sounded, he knew Sam was tired too, and it wouldn't be fair. "How long have we been on the road?"

"Three hours or so. We're out of state now. Next big town is,-uh...Kansas City, any minute now. Do you want to stop there or wait another three hours to St. Louis?"

"How 'bout just a pitstop and then stop for food in Missouri, but maybe not St. Louis-"

_Right...definitely not St. Louis_. Sam nodded in agreement.

Ten minutes later they found a coffee shop. By now Sam was fairly in need of a stimulant, and the extra-large coffee went down nicely. They devoured a box of assorted donuts and hit the road again.

Dean shook his head as they returned to the road. "Did you even notice?"

"What?"

"That girl behind the counter. If she batted her eyes any harder at you I'd be worried she was having a seizure."

"Was she?" Sam asked, genuinely surprised and pleased.

"God you're hopeless. You're never gonna get laid. Doesn't matter anyway, she was obviously deranged. She didn't even look at _me_."

"I think you have discerning and deranged confused."

Dean shot him a look, but smiled anyway. "Hey, does this dive have waterfront?"

"Of some sort. Probably more swampy than sandy—it's on the mainland side, not the ocean side. But we have our pick of beaches right there. Bobby said it was a quieter area, not built up and tacky or nouveau-riche like the rest of the coast."

Dean was a little disappointed. He kinda liked tacky.

"Uh...speaking of beaches, you're gonna look pretty stupid in your big black boots and long pants. Do you even own any shorts?"

"Nope." Dean said it with a finality that suggested he wasn't likely to own a pair any time soon.

Sam shook his head, and dropped the subject.. _Nothing a pair of scissors couldn't remedy_… "There is something strange about that cottage, though. Bobby hinted at it but that was all I got from him."

Dean raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Huh…. Strange, like unexplainable? Like haunting-strange?"

"Don't know yet. Guess we'll find out. Have you thought about how long we should stay down there..? One of us may have to sell a kidney if it's more than a couple of weeks…"

"Yeah, well...your turn to be cracked open." Dean's mind was already embracing the idea of some sort of gig. If they cleaned the house, so to speak—maybe they could parlay that into staying there no charge. An exchange of services, bartering. Everybody wins. He voiced as much to Sam.

"Well, don't get ahead of yourself." Sam cautioned. "I don't even know if it is that kind of strange, more likely just crooked floors or weird colours or something.. And you're hardly in any shape yet to go hunting.."

"What ? Why? I'm walking, my arm's ok—nothing else wrong!"

Sam cut him off. "Strength, Dean. You're still short on stamina. Be a little realistic, will you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Dean growled stubbornly.

"Oh you don't? Every time I've turned around on this drive so far you're snoring away beside me."

"Yeah well ...it's not because of any stamina thing, you're just boring."

"Whatever." Sam sighed. They were both road-weary—he expected they'd end up arguing at some point. They'd feel better with some real food in them. Sam felt like it was rocks he'd eaten, instead of donuts. They were due to stop in about ten or fifteen minutes. "Any preferences for supper?"

"I dunno." Dean grunted. "Except I'm getting sick of pizza."

Sam had to agree with that sentiment. David had fairly lived on the stuff. Maybe Ellen would broaden his culinary range.. Well, she knew how to deep-fry, anyway… "So..you think they'll last?

"Who?"

"David and Ellen. They seem pretty happy. Freaky that they hooked up. Ellen's razor edge melts whenever she's around him. It's sort of, uh...cute?" She would have cuffed him upside his head if she'd heard him refer to her as that.

"Yeah." Dean snorted. "Cute, that's the word I'd use for that hellcat. But it's good for both of them. She was well on her way to becoming a crabby old biddy, and David would've ended up some lonely old fart in the park putting bandaids on pigeons. At least we can take credit for that. And hey-whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Sam saw that some sort of steakhouse was coming into view. "How about here?"

Dean nodded and reached back for his jacket. "I'll buy. You drove so far."

They entered the place. Sam saw that his brother's limp was fairly pronounced. Maybe he should stay on as driver for a while longer. Dean could use some time stretched out.

Dean caught him analyzing him and growled, "I'm fine. You're not driving past here tonight, _I_ am."

They ordered the day's special. Steak of course. Their server was a pleasant looking woman, she had a sing-song Scottish accent. She brought out their draught beer, and hurried away to check on their order. There was a celtic sounding, folky tune playing over the speakers. Dean cocked his head with a frown. It was so very far from his preferred type of music. "What the hell is that?" he said with a grimace.

The server had returned and was standing by their table. "Mind your tongue, you!" she admonished, winking at Sam. "That's proper Scots' music, I'll have you know. 'The Green And The Blue', by the Battlefield Band. But I suppose I should forgive you, being so sadly uneducated as such."

Dean had a retort on the launch-pad, but he realized she was teasing him. Instead he flashed a winning smile and nodded. She set their plates down and left them, chuckling to herself. "Better be a good steak!" he muttered, still wearing the frozen grin.

It was, and predictably their moods were lighter when they returned to the van. Sam had to stay silent as Dean climbed into the driver's side with a grimace. "Do you know how to drive an automatic?" he teased.

Dean gave him a withering look as Sam took his place in the passenger seat. He sat for a minute, flexing his knee and frowning, as Sam waited patiently.. Then he sighed dramatically. "Ok… you drive." He settled into the seat behind and stretched out. "But tell me if you get too tired, I don't want to wake up in the ditch."

Sam moved over, smiling smugly.

"I saw that." Dean said, catching his brother's eye in the rear view mirror. Sam just laughed and drove .

An hour this side of Nashville, Sam's eyes were so tired he was sure the bushes at the side of the road were sprouting legs and running across. It was definitely time to hand over the reins. He pulled over onto the shoulder and woke his brother. "Dean, time to switch or crash. What do you want to do?"

He rubbed his eyes. " Depends what you mean by crash...what time is it?"

" A little past midnight. I can't see straight anymore…"

Dean yawned and stretched. "Yeah, ok, I'll take over. How's this bus to drive?"

"Really easy. Brakes are a little hard…"

Sam folded himself into human origami on the bench while Dean familiarized himself with the van. He tested his knee, pressing the brake pedal several times. It felt fine—no hindrance. He adjusted the seat forward considerably, and rolled back onto the road.

Despite the vehicle—Dean was elated to again be behind the wheel. Everything was good and right when he was driving. He rummaged in his box, found some suitable tunes and completed the picture. Sam groaned a complaint over the selection, but Dean just smiled and ignored him. But he did relent a little, turning it down a notch.

Thus filled with his particular brand of peace, Dean drove for six hours straight—all the way to Atlanta. He hummed to himself the whole way. The only thing that kept him from going further was the threat of wetting himself if he didn't stop. Sam awoke when the van came to a halt.

"Pee break." Dean said as he hopped out. Sam took the opportunity too. They switched places and Sam yawned, "So where are we?"

"Just outside Atlanta. Look for a coffee shop that's open, will you?"

_Atlanta-_? "How long were you driving?" Sam asked, incredulous…

"I dunno...around six hours."

" Geez, Dean! Why didn't you wake me up? I would have taken another shift."

"Relax, Sam. I enjoyed it, wasn't a problem."

Sam remembered what driving meant for his brother. Dean radiated contentment, a rare and beautiful thing. He thrived in the netherworld between _to_ and _from_. "Well, you should change careers, you would make a great bus driver."

They found a twenty four hour place and got their caffeine and sandwiches. Sam took them to Valdosta Florida. It was only 3 hours. It would be another three to Orlando. Since both were fully awake, they drew straws for that shift and Dean won. They figured they'd be in the keys area by morning.

After a few more pit stops they were in the vicinity of their rental. By now the horizon was rose tinged, the indigo of the night sky giving way to morning light. It was so different from their Nebraska experience, where the land was bunking down for winter, colours waning and warmth giving way to the chill of fall. Here, everything was a riot of exuberant growth...not the majestic deciduous and conifers of other states, but frivolous, lacy palms, and ground covers—vines, shrubs, that dominated every spare square yard. There were sandy rises. And flowers, so intensely colourful—almost garish, as if they weren't natural. The life here, the lushness, was almost suffocating. It took some getting used to after the self conscious, proper drabness of the Midwest.

"Some directions, here?" Dean prompted.

Sam pored over his pages and relayed the info. The sun was gaining strength, indigo brightening into azure, when they pulled up in front of Jezebel.

It was indeed a faded little gem. They got out and stretched, scanning the vista in front of the little house. As described, it had frontage on the water that separated the keys from mainland florida. And as Sam had predicted, it was a tangled waterfront of salt marsh and vines, a sandy path parting the growth to a silvered wharf. A small, peeling wooden boat was patiently tied there. Even this early, the sun was starting to warm their skin.

Both turned their attention to the cottage. It had an air of faded quaintness, just as it looked online. Two cats; a big, battered but still majestic, peach striped tom, and a lithe, coffee-brown, smaller one—surely a female, judging by her delicate form, lounged unconcerned on the porch steps. They could see another building behind the house, a few hundred yards away. It was decidedly more modern, with more glass than anything in its construction.

"Is it open? Do we need the key?" Dean asked. He was envisioning a bed and a pillow.

Sam wasn't sure. Some signs posted on stakes directed him to a rental office, which was apparently located in the glassed building. Dean unloaded their things onto the porch while Sam explored that possibility. It was still fairly early. The pale orange bruiser didn't move at the disturbance. He raised his head and regarded the usurpers for a moment, then closed his eyes and reclined. The brown cat was nowhere to be seen.

Dean sat on the steps, waiting for Sam to return. The big cat approached him confidently, and butted his lumpy head against his calf. Dean was a little surprised by its forwardness. Animals usually shied away from him, sensing his awkward, inexperienced manner with them. But this one had self assurance in spades. He obviously ran the place. Dean scratched its head a little. The cat accepted the homage and sauntered off through the tall grass.

Sam knocked hesitantly. It was a bit early to be disturbing people. He needn't have worried, both women were up and busy. The one who greeted him was tall and spare, and sun-browned and dried, like rawhide. Her once reddish hair was faded, shot with white, but still worn in a defiantly youthful pair of braids. Her eyes were a calm grey and they regarded Sam with a quiet strength, neither friendly nor wary. Sam stammered an introduction and stated his purpose.

"Oh yes, Bobby's friends! Welcome." she said, offering her hand. She had a strong handshake. Her face transformed with her warm smile. "I'm Sally. You must be looking for your keys."

The other woman raised her head at the mention of the name. She came to the doorway to say hello. She had short salt and pepper hair, in a charmingly unkempt cut. Her glasses were very dark, revealing nothing of her eyes. They looked like vintage Lennon. She too was tanned as brown as coffee, even more so than Sally. "I'm Emily." she said, offering a wet-clay covered hand.

"Sam." he replied. He realized she'd been throwing clay on a wheel, she was a potter.

Her friendly expression froze as her hand held his. She drew in a quick breath, wonderment filled her features. "Sam—such an aura! So green, and blue...so deep...thoughtful...strong… very brilliant."

Frowning, Sally cleared her throat and Emily released Sam's hand. "I'm sorry, Sam, don't think anything of it. Emily is blind, but she has an ability to see energy signatures—auras, from living things. You're not freaked out, are you?" Sally asked matter-of-factly while eyeing him closely.

Most people stammered that it was fine when obviously it was not. But Sam, she noticed—had a look of keen interest at this little exchange, almost reverence. And unlike most others, he hadn't so many pulled his hand away with an expression of unease or distaste. Even with the wet clay.

Emily tsked. "Don't always apologize for me Sal! I can't help what I see."

Sally cut her short, hissing,"Yes—but you don't have to yak about it right off. For heaven's sake, Emmy—do you ever think anything you don't say?"

Sam laughed a little awkwardly. " No, no...I 'm not freaked out. Really, I'm not. Actually Emily, I wouldn't mind talking with you again about your ability. But in the meantime, I have a brother who's gonna turn into a pumpkin any minute if I don't get him a bed…."

"Right—keys." Sally handed him two sets and wished him a happy stay. Emily promised to drop by sometime later, and he left.

He sprinted back to the cottage. Dean was still sitting on the steps, too weary to go exploring. "What took so long?" he growled.

"It wasn't that long, Dean." He opened the door to the cool shadowy interior. The cottage had two bedrooms, and an extra futon on the porch. It was sparely but interestingly furnished, most items were from the twenties—and it had a breezy tropical feel. Simple white bathroom. Utilitarian kitchen. And unlike the exterior, it was pleasantly well maintained.

Dean chose the room closest to the john. Sam chose the back bedroom, by default, and carried his stuff into it. He noticed it had a poem written and framed on the wall. _Will the circle.. be unbroken_… Actually, each room had the same verses posted. _Odd_. Somebody's favourite poem. Or song…the words struck him as sort of familiar, like an old hymn or something. Once he had stowed his gear, he hauled in the cooler and unloaded it into the fridge. He grabbed a couple of ice-teas and checked on Dean.

Dean was face-down on the bed, exhausted by the non-stop drive. Sam smiled and left him to snooze, and he headed out to sit on the welcoming porch. Sipping his cold drink, he scanned the view in front of him. It was beautiful. Warm and brilliantly sunny, with a refreshing breeze. His spirits were renewed by the place, he looked forward to exploring the area and hitting the beach, and reading some great books. ..And checking out the cottage—which was an intriguing time capsule.

The peach coloured cat appeared from under the porch and flopped down in front of him on a lower step. He wasn't soliciting any contact, just lying there—staking his claim. Sam reached down and scratched his head anyway. He wondered where the little brown one was.

Sally came down the path and waved. "I see you've met Paddy." she said. "I hope you don't mind him hanging around—he won't come in. He just claims the porch. He gets fed at our house."

"No...no problem. No allergies here. Where's his girlfriend, the brown one?"

"Brown cat?" Sally's face was blank. " As far as I know there's no other one. Just old Paddy here…"

Sam described the scene when they arrived, with the two felines lounging on the steps. Sally shrugged and assured him that she'd never seen it. She handed Sam a packet of pamphlets that showed the area attractions.

Thanking her, he said, "Bobby mentioned you painted. Do you mind showing your work to people outside of galleries?"

She smiled. "No, stop by and have a look anytime. I warn you—it's not Norman Rockwell."

"Good. he said. "I like work that's more loose and modern. I spent some time at Stanford a while ago—saw a lot of nice work in the buildings.."

Sally nodded. "Emily works in clay. You should see some of her work too. She'd be thrilled. Bring your brother around for some lunch this aft. We can give you some hints on how to enjoy the area. Is Dean an art aficionado as well?"

Sam snorted. "Dean's more of an, uh...illustration and photography buff. Spiderman … Maxim…"

She laughed. "Uh huh…" She rose to head back. "Why don't you drop by around two? We'll make you something more interesting than road-food."

"Sounds good." He watched her go before heading back in.

Dean was still snoring. Sam grabbed an apple and found the wicker porch swing, and dusting off the spiders, he settled into it and snoozed off himself.

Dean woke him at around ten. He spun the hanging chair like a carnival ride. "Hey Sam. Hungry yet?"

Sam, rudely awakened, dug his heel down to put the brakes on—treating his brother to an you're-an-ass look. Dean laughed and sat down beside him. He'd made a sandwich and he tore half off and gave it to him.

"What do you think so far?" Sam asked.

"It's awesome. I wanna check out that boat later. I didn't see any haunting so far. It just looks kinda spooky with the paint so crappy on the outside. Wonder why they don't fix it…?"

Sam shrugged. "Oh yeah, we got an invitation to the cousins' place for lunch-two o'clock.."

Dean groaned. Not half a day into vacation and he was already stuck having tea with a couple of wacky old women.

Sam defended it. "Don't roll your eyes...these two are pretty interesting. And Sally promised a good feed after all the crappy road meals. And we can maybe find out about the place—the name etc."

"Uh huh. I'm gonna wander around a bit, you coming?"

Sam shook his head. He wanted to empty the rest of the stuff out of the van before it got much hotter.

Dean was gone for an hour. He had checked out the boat, it was a tiny flat-bottomed punt, and he paddled it around the shoreline until he had to start bailing, at which point he thought it wise to return. As he approached the dock he saw the brown cat again. It watched him, as still as a statue, its stare unwavering. It had unusual light green eyes. Dean looked away to turn his attention to tying up the punt, and when he glanced up again it was gone. He climbed back up and made his way back to the Jezebel.

Sam looked up at his return. "What'd you do?" he asked. He was immersed in picking out some reading fodder, the place had a well-stocked book shelf.

"Took the boat out. You should try, later. Just don't go out too far—it'll drown you after an hour.."

Dean already had a sunburn on his nose and arms. Sam burnt quickly as a rule, and he'd bought a good sunscreen, but of course his stubborn sibling thought lotion was for chicks. It was nearing two, so Sam and a reluctant Dean followed the sandy path to the house. Sam had warned him that Emily would touch him and probably talk auras—he didn't want Dean to be spooked. Dean grumbled and had to promise not to balk if she did.

Reaching the place, they were welcomed by both women, handed a cold beer each and directed to sit down in the sun-room. Sally went to finish up her lunch prep. and Emily joined them, introducing herself to Dean. As warned—when she shook his hand, she became still for a moment, then released him. But she said nothing.

"Come on, Emily, what did you see?" Sam prodded. "It's really cool that you can sense these. So what is he, angry black? Sour brown? I'm guessing puce-"

She grinned. "Well...since you asked. Dean—you're all reds. I figure you're impulsive, maybe impatient...cocky. Am I right so far?"

Dean was a little shocked, she described him pretty accurately but he covered it up with a quip. "And handsome—you missed the biggest one, Emily. Oh yeah, and brave. And charming. And—"

Sam cut him off as Emily giggled. "And humble. He's _really_ humble."

Sally came in with a tray piled high with shrimp, cut fruit, cheeses and cold cuts, and other goodies. "Dig in, people."

They finished off the generous spread and talked about the area, and about Bobby, and the little house. Sam asked what the significance of the cottage name was and Emily warned him it was a sad story, but she agreed to tell it.

" This property was my Grandmother's. Her name was Adelaide, Ada for short. She was married off to a man that who a real bastard, pardon my language-a violent drinker. He squandered her money and worse. Thank goodness there were no children.. She was bitterly unhappy. Well at one point he took off, and after a year or two, Ada thought he was gone for good. She started to believe in life again. She met a good and kind man, he was Seminole—and he lived with her here at the cottage. Course—people had opinions about it, he was an Indian—and she white, and still legally wed. They shunned her, called her a whore, and a jezebel. But they tried their best to ignore them all—because they were happy. For a while it was their own little paradise. They had a child—they named her Rose, she was my mother." Emily paused then, and after a moment, she continued.

"Well didn't her husband finally crawl back out of the woodwork. Their simple little happiness was shattered. He confronted Ada's love, and they fought, and he killed the poor man. And he set himself up as man-of-the house again, as if nothing had ever happened. Ada went mad with grief. She gathered up little Rose in her arms and she walked straight into that water and never came out. Somehow, the baby survived—they found her on the shore, soaking wet and crying. That black-souled husband took whatever valuables were left in the house and fled. Poor little Rose was shipped off to some miserable orphanage, where she stayed until she was sixteen because no one wanted to adopt a half-bred Indian child. Sometime after she left the orphanage she had a baby of her own—me. I like to think she found a bit of love somewhere. She died in the delivery. I never did know who my father was. If it hadn't been for Sal's good family taking me in, god knows where I would have ended up…."

After some quiet, Sam managed a quiet response. "Wow…."

"Huh." Dean added.

Seeing all the saddened faces, Sally jumped in. "Well—thanks for the downer, Emmy. You're quite the wet blanket, aren't you? But you forgot the good part, where it was all fabulous from then on, because you got to live with me and what could be better than that?" she winked at the brothers.

Emily shook off the pall and raised her glass in a mock toast.. " Absolutely. Amen to that. You know, boys—Ada is said to haunt your cottage. That's why we called it the Jezebel. Don't worry, she's a happy, well-adjusted ghost. If she likes you, you won't have any trouble…" she giggled.

Sally interjected, a little more serious. "Now Bobby told us you were hunters—we know all about that sort of thing, don't worry. But Ada is off limits...ok? She's not some tortured soul bent on wreaking havoc. She's in her happy place now. She deserves to stay there."

The brothers were silent after hearing all this. The women were too, until they both burst into laughter and apologized for sharing their sad little tale. Dean and Sam didn't know whether they were serious or not.

After enough was consumed to make everyone half-toasted, the women showed them around the studio. Sam was truly amazed by Sally's talent. She painted luminous pleine-air type landscapes, mostly large scale. Dean didn't get it at all, but he was polite. Emily's pottery was whimsical, colourful and sculptural ...mostly huge bowls and plates. Sam thought it was a shame she couldn't see the vibrant hues in her own work.

Emily held Sam back for a moment. "Sam...I don't mean to pry, but it's odd—I can see your colours as we speak-you're the only aura I've ever been able to see without actually touching you. I usually have to be in contact with a person to see anything. There's something different about you…"

That caught him off guard. For a second he thought he'd just suggest it was a mystery, but he did feel an unusual connection to her. He took the chance and told her of his ability.

"I thought so." she said, quietly. "It's a mixed blessing, isn't it? Besides the auras, I sometimes see flashes when something negative is about to happen. But it's never very clear what the source is, and so I am rarely able to do anything about it. It's frightening sometimes, and very frustrating. Do you find that as well?"

He was thoughtful for a moment. As much as he'd like to talk to someone about everything, he thought it unwise to bring up the demonic connection. "I have been lucky enough to stop or change what I've seen. Not always, so yeah, it is hard sometimes. But I'm glad to be able to discuss it with someone who doesn't think I'm certifiable. I appreciate that, Emily."

She squeezed is arm. "Any time, Sam."

When they returned to the sunroom, Paddy had claimed Dean's spot. "Hey you!" he said, ruffling his head. "Get outa my chair…"

The cat just squinted at him and leaned back, daring anyone to try to move him. Sally unceremoniously stuffed him under her arm and turfed him outside.

Dean didn't see the other cat. "Guess he's off to hang out with his girlfriend." he said.

The women exchanged cryptic glances. "There's only the one old cat…."

"I meant the brown one, she was on the dock this morning."

But still they assured them that Paddy was alone. He dropped it.

Finally the brothers thought they should let the women return to their day, and they thanked them and prepared to leave. Sam remembered to ask about the song.. It was everywhere, printed and framed, there were embroidered copies, a calligraphy one, -every room had a version of it.

"That was a favourite song of hers." Emily said. "We have it everywhere for good luck. Things seem to go well if you sing it, or even just hum it, when you enter the cottage. Makes Ada happy…" she smiled.

Sam asked what the tune was, and Emmy hummed it for him. He recognized it, it was a hymn he'd heard before. He promised they'd have a go at it when they got back.

"Good boy." she laughed. "Now you're guaranteed to have a good vacation."


	2. Chapter 2

PART 2

The two walked back to the cottage. "There you go Dean, was that so bad?"

"Weird...but not bad. So the place is haunted… Huh. You'd think that Ada would be better off with her lover and daughter, though—instead of hanging around here. Can't burn her bones though, if she's somewhere in the water…" Just as Dean finished speaking, the brown cat suddenly appeared underfoot. In his startled attempt to keep from crushing her he danced sideways, lost his balance and sprawled face first into the sandy path. Sam shot a hand out but missed him. Dean got up, swore and dusted himself off. _That_ hurt… "Did you see that? The cat-that-doesn't-exist just tried to kill me!" His right knee still rebelled at any lateral movement and he favoured it the rest of the way home.

Seeing the glower and the limp, Sam kept his snickering almost silent. "The cousins don't want Ada-the-Ghost uprooted anyway, Dean. Just leave it alone."

"Mmm." It went against every fiber of Dean's being to leave it alone. Ghosts were ghosts, and it was in everyone's best interest to purge them. But then again, he would have said the same of all vampires, until he met the nest that had vowed to take no human blood. _Freaking grey areas_. They always screwed him up. Black and white was so much simpler. He changed the subject. "We're going out tonight, Sammy, so make yourself pretty. No offense, but I wanna wake up in the morning beside somebody who doesn't have to shave off the beard first thing."

"So you're finally going after a better class of women?" Sam quipped.

"Yeah, laugh it up, geek. ...And you know, you _are_ allowed to have some naughty fun too, Sam. Chicks have a herd instinct, they always travel in pairs. If you'd loosen the bowtie and stick around for once while I work my magic, you might actually get to learn why boys like girls."

"Oooo, Please, enlighten me, Swami Dean. Don't trip over your ego next. I think I can handle my own love life, thanks anyway. "

"See—there's a problem right there. It's not a love life, it's a just a fun night. Semantics are screwing you up. You're thinking too long term there. You don't need to care how beautiful her mind is, just if she's got some great—"

"Yeah, I get it, Dean." Sam laughed. "But seriously dude, your ego is getting scary. Maybe we should lay some cash on who gets , uh—_invited_—first."

"You're on, Brother Samuel." he grinned.

Sam wasn't done goading. "Better bring your 'A' game, Dean. You don't have your car handy to impress the women. I mean, really, do you _have_ any other tools? You could be in trouble here."

"Sam, Sam, Sam…." he shook his head, patronizingly. He swept his hands over himself like a Price-Is-Right girl offering Showcase Number 2.. "This is the only tool I need."

Sam snorted. "Well you are the biggest tool I know."

Dean rolled his eyes. "How 'bout we end this conversation before it gets weird."

"Too late." Sam said as he hopped up the steps to the door and unlocked it. "So...what do you think of the cousins?"

" Interesting pair. Sally looks like she's in her forties instead of her sixties. Her art was sort of different. I'm used to arty stuff looking like it does in the real world, so at first I didn't get it, but the more I thought about it, it kinda grew on me. Emily is pretty freaky. If no one told me she was blind I might not have known, she sure figures her way around the place. That aura thing is pretty out-there. Probably into crystals and all that crap too..."

"Mmm. Sally's actually world renowned for her work. I looked her up on google, she's got paintings in major galleries all over the place. Hard to believe she's related to Bobby. So you don't buy Emily's seeing-auras thing?"

"I don't know. Kinda hard to verify, though. But if it makes her happy..."

Sam let it drop. "Figure out where we're going, Dean. I'm gonna shower."

Dean already had a place in mind. Actually it was a strip of bars in Boca Raton. After mocking each other's attire, they headed out. Dean was in particularly good spirits. He was gonna get laid, and make a hundred bucks off Sam in the process. Good work if you can get it.

Sometimes things don't go according to plan. Not that he was complaining in general, they both had a pretty good night out. It was refreshing to be around lots of party-minded people, loud music and bar service. But _damn!_ Dean was so sure _he'd_ be the one gloating. He met a great looking girl right off, brunette, green eyes and a great body. She was obviously into him, she laughed at all his jokes, leaned close to talk, touched his arm, his thigh. He figured his evening was set. He looked over at Sam, seated at the bar and oblivious to the three girls who were watching him, giggling and prodding each other to go speak to him. Dean figured the bet was won hands down.

He brought her over to meet Sam, relishing the thought of him having to concede defeat. He did the necessary intros and that's where the plan veered off the rails. The moment she saw him, she was starry-eyed for Sam. She did all the same things to him—hanging on his every word, touching his arm, laughing musically. She was like a sleek cat stroking itself against Sam's leg. She didn't give Dean another look. And Sam just grinned at him. Dean tried several times to break into their conversation, but they just looked at him, distracted, slightly annoyed by this buzzing insect that insisted on pestering them.

Finally he gave up, and sat back, perplexed and irritated, downing his beer. This sort of thing didn't happen to Dean Winchester. He was sure he had this chick, but along comes the geek, and he sweeps her off her feet and leaves him stammering and looking like a cold leftover. He got another beer, and glanced over as she whispered something to Sam and he blushed, and nodded. Sam met his gaze and grinned a cheshire cat grin—there were practically canary feathers sticking out between his teeth.

-_Great_—he growled to himself. _And now I just lost a hundred bucks_. Dean pasted on a smile, it was a supreme effort, as Sam wandered over with her on his arm and said they'd be taking a stroll down the beach for a few hours.

"Have fun, kiddies." he said. Sam quietly asked him if it was cool and he shrugged. "Hey, you win. Go for it, Sammy."

And even more oddly, Dean struck out for the rest of the night. He would have had more luck if he had a ball of tape on his glasses and a festering sore on his lip. He was sure he was cursed, and he thought, _thanks a lot, Ada. _But at least he was on his game at the pool table. After giving up on the romance for the evening he found some willing sacrifices and made a cool three hundred bucks on the night. It took some of the sting out of losing to Sam. And he didn't stay bitter, he was glad his little brother was having some fun. If he didn't get his spring sprung every now and then, his giant head was gonna pop off..

As Dean collected from yet another disgruntled loser, Sam wandered back in, alone.

"That was quick, even for you." Dean joked. He got a couple more beers and they sat down. "Soooo...did you have a good time?"

Sam gave him a wry look. "Guess I should have known your second-hand prospects would turn out weird. We were walking along the sand, and all of a sudden she rubs her cheek against mine, laughs, says I should warn _you_ to behave yourself, and then goodbye. And she walks away, still laughing. Strangest ending to a date I've ever had."

"Hmm…" That was strange. Why the warning for him-? He forked over the hundred bucks. "Not a total loss for us, anyway. You won the bet—which will haunt me for weeks, by the way, but at least I made some green at pool. Are we done for the night? It's almost closing time anyway."

Sam nodded and they headed back to the van.

Back on the highway, they made plans for the following day, which centred around white sand and surf and not much else.

Suddenly Sam became aware of a soft sound. It was unmistakable, the rumbling of a happy cat, emanating from behind. He looked at Dean quizzically and they both turned their heads. The little brown cat sat on the back seat, apparently having hitched a ride when they'd left the cottage. She stared back at them. then closed her green eyes and curled up, purring smugly.

"What the hell? Dean said. "Every time I turn around this stupid cat is there!"

Sam shook his head and laughed. "Guess you get to bring home a female tonight after all."

"Go me." he grouched.

When they got to the cottage, Dean opened his door and the cat bounded out and disappeared.

"Better sing Ada her song, Dean. Your luck kind of sucks lately…" Sam said as he unlocked the door.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, I don't think so. Sing away, Sammy."

Sam hummed the tune as he walked in. Dean stumbled over the stoop and whacked his elbow on the door frame. When he was done cursing he pointed at his snickering brother. "You just shut up! I'm going to bed, before I brain myself tripping on some shadow! Christ, It's like I've got some cosmic_ kick-me_ sign on my back!"

Dean fared no better the next day.

Sam hid his long pants and boots and wouldn't give in, so he was forced to wear the cut off's Sam snipped from one of his torn jeans. He refused to wear the flip flops Sam had picked up for him, and while barefoot he stepped on a piece of glass. He got a brutal sunburn...lost his sunglasses. And a sudden gust blew sand all over his lunch so he was chewing grit for the rest of the day. He fumed while Sam had gone off and joined a beach volleyball game. Having never played a team sport in his life, Dean had been too embarrassed to try.

And wrapping up a truly miserable outing, he was stung by a wasp that flew in to the car as they prepared to leave. All in all, the day sucked out loud, and he was glad to be back in the Impala and heading home.

Once again on the porch, Sam advised that he sing Ada her song, and once again, Dean scoffed. He sat down heavily on a chair, as Sam handed him a drink.

"You don't do the Florida thing too well, do you?" he teased.

"Apparently not." he grunted. He was secretly glad that Sam had forced him to wear the makeshift shorts, he would have looked like an idiot wearing his usual choice of clothes.

"Well, relax, Dean. I'll barbeque you up something good."

As Sam fussed over dinner, Dean worked hard at getting tanked. By the time the meal was finished he wore a loose smile and the afternoon was nearly forgotten. He sat on his chair, licking the remaining BBQ sauce off his fingers.

"Good job, Sammy. You're hired." He settled back and leaned his head against the wall. "So you think I pissed Ada off, eh? See, I told you there's no such thing as a harmless ghost. We should look through the journal to see if there's any other way besides salt & burn. This bitch is gonna do me in…"

He laughed, only joking. But Ada must have felt threatened by his words, or his simple streak of lousy luck was still continuing, because the shelf of books affixed to the wall over his head suddenly let loose at one end, showering him with a dozen dusty hard covers. He was lucky the shelf stayed attached to the wall or he'd have been brained by the oak plank.

"Sonofabitch!" he yelped.

Sam couldn't help but laugh at him. "Sing the damn song already, Dean! I don't want to be standing near you when the next accident happens."

Dean brushed the cobwebs out of his hair. He was sufficiently drunk enough now to acquiesce. "Fine! Fine, I give up, Ada. I was only joking, I promise I won't bother you any more. Sam, gimme one of the million freaking copies of the damned thing around here—"

Sam took one of the wall and hummed accompaniment as Dean belted out the words. Annoyed, the orange cat, ears turned back in disapproval, stalked off the steps and melted into the grass. But the brown cat, who had been a no show earlier, seemed drawn to the sound. She appeared amongst the flowers at the verandah's edge, and shyly sat a few yards away, staring at them with her unusually bright green eyes.

"There, happy now? " Dean asked of the thin air. He and Sam dissolved into laughter and they fetched some more beer. They sang it a few more times for good measure and the simple fun of it. The boisterous sounds of the singing reached all the way to the studio, and to Emily's sensitive ears. She smiled to herself. It sometimes took a little..._persuasion_, but Ada always got her way.

By midnight they were officially looped enough that it was advisable to hit the sack. Dean took the scenic route to the can and Sam fell asleep with one sandal on. They both slept like happy babies. Unfortunately, for Sam, it didn't last. He began to toss and turn, distressed by unseen forces in his dream. He woke up in a sweat, filled with a sense of unease, a vague dread. He was feeling a head-ache beginning. Sighing, he got up and nabbed some aspirin and water, peeked in on Dean, who was still snoring happily, and headed back to bed, hoping to stave off his inevitable hang-over.

When morning came, he still felt uneasy. He didn't know why, there was no specific threat looming, but he just felt sort of wary, and out of sorts.. He vowed to take it easy on the beer today.

Dean awoke much later, fully rested and looking forward to the day. "Morning Sam. Man, you look like shit. Are we a little hung-over ?" he pestered.

Sam was drinking a coffee and he pointed towards the still half-filled pot. "I guess. Bit of a head ache, had bad dreams, I think. Can't remember what, but I woke up all screwed-up."

"Too bad...that sucks. Why don't you go crash for a while? We're not in a hurry to go anywhere. I'll just explore around here…"

Sam grunted his agreement. He took a few more aspirin and crawled back into bed.

Dean smiled and shook his head. _Amateur_. He thought he'd take the boat out again. He stepped out of the house and walked down the sandy path, stopping to look back at the cottage. He liked it, it had a cool old style, but the bad flaking paint ruined it. He'd picked at the loose flakes earlier, they came off easily. He wouldn't mind having a go at it, it was a big job but it would be really satisfying. Maybe he could trade his efforts for an extended stay. He changed directions and headed to the studio.

The cousins were on the patio having breakfast.

Sally waved as she saw him. "Dean, good morning! Emmy, we have a visitor." She offered him a chair and some fresh cut melon. "Are you enjoying your stay so far?"

He nodded. "Bit of a rough day yesterday, but I think I worked it out with Ada. " he laughed.

"Oh yes, I heard you singing. You have a lovely voice." Emily said.

Dean was embarrassed, and stammered an apology for being so loud, but Emily chuckled and assured him she enjoyed it. He got to his purpose, and asked why the cottage exterior hadn't been overhauled for some time. Sally explained that they couldn't get anyone to work on it because of its reputation. No painter would take the chance while at the top of a ladder that the resident spook might object to the colour or something. But Dean surprised them with his interest in working on it, and they were thrilled to trade for it. Emily had no idea how rough it had gotten, but it bothered Sally to no end. He wanted to get scraping as soon as possible, but they made him promise to spend an equal amount of time vacationing properly. Everyone was pleased with the exchange. As he rose to leave—Dean had to ask. "Uh...look, the brown cat—the one who doesn't exist.. C'mon, what's the deal there? She's showing up every time I turn around… I know you must have seen her."

He watched as Sally touched Emily, and Emily nodded.

Sally answered. "Dean, with your experiences, I guess we can be honest. We don't like to talk about all this, anyone else would think we were just batty old broads, and last thing we want is a bunch of nosy idiots poking around here. You see…..Ada really does inhabit the cottage, maybe you already know that… As far as we can tell, she's there by choice, happily—but she's also bound to the house. About ten years ago the brown cat showed up. We don't know where she came from. We're not sure how, but she seems to be a sort of...helper, to Ada. She can go anywhere, whereas Ada is limited. So Ada uses her to experience a wider world, to help her do things. We don't know what the cat is exactly. Emmy touches her and gets absolutely nothing, no more than if she were a rock or a stuffed toy or something. Paddy just treats her like another cat. But she doesn't eat, or drink, doesn't seem to need anything. And she can appear and vanish out of the blue. Sometimes we don't see her for weeks. Other times she's everywhere, going about her business of facilitating Ada…We had a bunch charlatans tell us nothing but nonsense about it, but there was one reputable medium who was bang-on about everything, and she filled in some of the blanks for us."

Dean was fascinated. As a hunter, he should be using the information to figure out how to eradicate the two spirits, or whatever the cat was, but there was a sweetness to this..it was poignant. And the cousins were so protective of them. But he still had to know. "You're sure Ada is benevolent then? And her little friend? She wouldn't do anything harmful if she felt threatened?"

Sally measured her words. "Ada is good, Dean. She is capable of mischief to force a point, but we have never seen any evidence of harmful intent. I wouldn't put anyone in that house if we thought otherwise. And as to your question, I'll ask the same of you; would you do something harmful if you were threatened? And if you have that potential, does that mean someone should rid the world of the potential danger that _you_ represent?"

"Ok, point taken." he said, adding "This is a new one for me, never saw a spirit relationship like that before. And don't worry, I already promised her I'd leave her alone."

They were relieved. "Thank you Dean." Emily said, touching his arm. "She's my grandma, I'd miss her. And she does good things too. She..._finds_ things—old, valuable items turn up when there are initiatives underway for children, or needy folks. Coins, from the sea, or jewelry, long lost and buried in the sand. The brown cat will appear with some little bundle gripped between her teeth, they've paid for more than a few charitable works. I'd certainly like to keep that going."

Dean thanked them for the cantaloupe and candour, and he headed back to the dock. The morning was so beautiful, sun sparkling off the water, a gentle breeze. Dean thought about just laying on the dock in the sun, but he got so fried yesterday it was probably best to stay out of the UV for a bit. He sat on the end and dangled his feet in the water, lazily pushing the tied boat around. Ada's song was stuck in his head, he sang the chorus under his breath absent-mindedly.

_Will the circle be unbroken_

_By and by, lord, by and by_

_Theres a better home a-waiting_

_In the sky, lord, in the sky_

A little noise caused him to turn around, and once again his feline stalker sat a few feet away, calmly watching him. "Hey, cat. " he said, extending his hand. She didn't move. "Relax. You can tell your boss I meant it, I won't try to smoke her. I promise."

She moved forward and allowed him to touch her. She felt like cool silk, her green eyes unwavering. There was nothing strange about her, except maybe that a dark furred animal that had spent the morning in the sun would probably be a lot warmer. If he had the EMF around it would probably be screaming. He ran his hand along her back. "Do you have a name?"

If she did, she didn't offer it. She meowed at him, and shifted her gaze over the water. He looked in the direction she did, there was nothing, and when he turned back to her she was gone. _Weird_. he thought. And I'm talking to a dead cat—_that's_ normal. He figured it was time to check on hangover-boy.

Sam was up and feeling more normal when Dean returned. His earlier uneasiness had passed and he was ready to vacation again. They thought they'd try the beach again, after all it was Florida, it's all about the beach. Dean broke down and asked to borrow a pair of Sam's more appropriately light weight and colourful shorts, even reluctantly slipping on the stupid flipflops. _Hey, when in Rome_…

This time the day was perfect.

They had the ultimate Gidget–worthy day of surf, sun and sand. They could have filmed a Florida Tourism commercial. They swam, sunned, played volleyball and frisbee, met some really fun girls with really little bikinis...hung out at a great beach-side bar-went for some very satisfying sorties along the beach. Springs were sprung. All in all they considered the day seized. By the time they returned to Jezebel they were exhausted, burnt, happy and spent. It was everything Florida was supposed to be. Winding down on the porch with a couple of cold ones, they reflected on the day, and planned tomorrow's activities.

Dean was determined to see alligators. Sam made him promise not to try to wrestle any. The best venue for that seemed to be Everglades Park, which was a not too distant drive. There were many destinations within the park system, and they chose an area that had old established cypress swamps, creepy and perfect.

Sam really loved the porch, his favourite place to relax was that suspended swing, as long as Dean wasn't spinning it. They sat and absorbed the peace of the quiet starry night, listening to the night creatures call out to each other. Dean told Sam about the cat and Ada. Sam too had never seen a relationship such as this. It was intriguing. He had less interaction with the cat than Dean had so far. But he was aware of Ada's presence in an oblique way. He never felt alone within the cottage walls. And it wasn't an intrusion, but more of a comforting, welcoming warmth. Hard to believe there could be anything negative there. Dean told him of his agreement with the cousins, to repaint the debilitated exterior in return for an extended stay. Sam was enthusiastic, he would help as well. But Dean jealously guarded his ownership of that job, it was his idea and his alone to experience. Sam shrugged. Scraping paint or beach...tough choice.

He told Sam everything the cousins had relayed about Ada, her activities, her comings and goings as they knew them. Sam was really hoping to interact somehow, to have some experience with Ada when she did her good works. It added a whole new and uplifting dimension to the supernatural, so different from the self-absorbed anger and evil of most of their encounters.

But it was getting late. They were both so sun-baked that bed seemed a really welcome decision. Goodnights were slurred and they went to their rooms. Dean was unconscious immediately, and Sam followed suit.

But the dreams, the unfocused worries, plagued Sam again. Within a few hours he was quasi-wakeful, trying to calm his racing heart and his uneasy thoughts. He got up and found his seat on the porch. He rocked back and forth gently, for a good forty-five minutes.. It was peaceful at night. Out here it felt safe. When he closed his eyes he felt threatened, but it was so damned nebulous—he didn't know if he should pay it any heed. They had a great day, worry–free. Why was his psyche rebelling against that? Apparently Dean wasn't the only one who sucked at holidays. He sighed, and chalked it up to over-stimulation. They had some good plans for tomorrow. He should try to rest again so that he'd be up for it. Once he returned to his room, Sam slept easily. Dean was, as usual, untroubled in his slumber.

Morning broke with rain this time. They were so used to perfect weather thus far, it was a shock to the soul to have a dull day. They ate breakfast and decided to wait it out, hoping to drive to the park in sunshine. It did break somewhat by eleven, and they loaded some lunch and drinks into the cooler, carted it into the van and headed out. They stopped at Sally's wave. They described their plans, and when she heard their destination she gave Sam a detailed description of a short-cut that would shave a half hour off the drive and provide them with a real, non-highway view of Florida wilderness. They thanked her and took the route.

Sam drove. Dean was nursing his knee again, too much activity on the beach the previous day. Dean was really keyed up to see his gators. Sam didn't understand what the hell the attraction was, just a bunch of over-fed geckos with long teeth, fish breath and a nasty attitude. But he was interested in the primeval atmosphere of the virgin cypress swamp. It was a visceral place, ancient and mysterious. He liked the corners of the earth that still held traces of its roots. Everywhere else, it was so processed— you couldn't get a sense of humanity's place or purpose anymore.

Dean was squirming again in the passenger seat, unsuccessfully seeking a comfortable position. Finally Sam couldn't take it any more. He suggested his brother take advantage of the back seat for a little while. Dean refused, of course, insisting he was fine. But Sam kept pushing, declaring that the constant motion was distracting the driver. Dean grumbled, but he was tired of battling the ache and he undid his belt and crawled over to the bench. Sam smiled to himself. _Stubborn bugger_.

Dean drifted off with in minutes. Sam had his directions, he was happy that his brother could catch a few before the tiring hike in the park. He drove on in quiet, immersed in his own thoughts. He was still bothered by his nocturnal worries. The disquiet had never really left him. But it was all so damned formless, he had no way of conquering the fear if it had no real solidity. Even now he felt his stomach tightening. He was looking forward to the distraction of Dean's silly enthusiasm over the gators, it would draw his own mind away from the omnipresent worry. He glanced back, and witnessed his brother solidly snoozing.. He smirked , they weren't up that late. –_Getting old, buddy_.

Sam had been driving in the quiet for nearly an hour when the last shred of peace left him. The uneasiness that had plagued him for the last several days suddenly went into overdrive. A searing headache struck him, and threatened to make him pull over. He shook his head repeatedly to clear his sight. His brain always resisted his visions the same way, but this time no imagery was forth-coming. He rubbed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at Dean, on the bench seat behind, and debated whether he should wake him to take over for a while. There was really no safe road shoulder to stop at, it was built up high here, almost a causeway, with moss shrouded cypress crowding oppressively on either side. Black, still water absorbed all light at the bottom of the vegetation. He felt a faint nausea, but decided to keep going.

Just as he was beginning to relax once more the pain struck him again, blinding in its ferocity. He groaned, and turned to alert Dean, he needed to switch desperately so that he could close his eyes for a while. As his glance swept past the passenger seat, he stopped short, his gaze met by the strange figure of a child.

He blinked hard with shock—

He, or It? sat, crouched like some beast on the seat, -dripping with water, rotting plants clinging to long, matted, sodden hair , face and arms smeared with blackish slime. It leered back at him, his little mouth twisted in a gargoyle grin. Malice seethed from its presence.

_Bright yellow eyes_.

"Samuel…." it mouthed soundlessly, reaching out to him.

Sam went rigid with terror, but he found his voice and screamed a warning to his brother, "DEAN!"

Dean shot up in startled alarm. He'd been deep in slumber, Sam's yell catapulted him into wakefulness so abruptly he couldn't grasp what was happening. The van still sped its straight course. The road ahead curved sharply.

It struck him like a blow _-No one was driving_-

"Shit-—SAM!" he cried, diving forward to grasp the wheel.

It was seconds too late. The van hit the shoulder and pitched down the embankment, lurching. It rolled once, then again, throwing up clods of black earth and torn plants, ultimately grinding to a halt upside down against the dank grey trunks. A coven of black birds flew up, screaming their alarm and scattering, leaving eerie silence in their wake. Leaves fell in slow motion from splintered branches. The cloud of mosquitoes disturbed by the vehicle settled down again amongst the foliage.

The wheels still turned, lazily, on the overturned van, in a languid denial of its current state. The air was quiet and still. All that could be heard was the hum of countless insects. It was hideously surreal.

There was no movement within the vehicle.


	3. Chapter 3

PART 3

_Thirsty_. The van was stiflingly hot, and airless.

Dean slowly floated up to consciousness. A low moan reached him from somewhere…—_Sam?_ But he realized it was his own voice he heard. Sentience returned in increments, and he began to be aware that he hurt. He didn't know what the source was, it enveloped him in shapeless, shifting pain. The floor of the vehicle and the seats hung over him, occasionally raining bits of sand into his face. He squinted at their dim outline. _Didn't make sense_. He peered around, disassociated and woozy, his comprehension slow.

He realized there was a heavy, rigid weight pressing him against what should have been the van floor, but somehow wasn't. _Cooler._ A hazy memory returned, of it, and the spare tire, and a dozen other things, colliding with him in the chaos as the van rolled.

- _van...accident_- His brain felt like it was trying to batter its way out of his skull. He struggled to think. _ Sam!_ In panic, he shoved at the cooler until it slid off his chest and tried to raise himself up on his elbows, but at least one clear source of pain revealed itself sharply and he dropped back down with a gasp. He became aware of an ache in his chest, but that wasn't it, something else hurt with a sharper intensity.

The van was in deep shadow, it was pitch dark inside. He couldn't see enough to make sense of his predicament. He moved his fingers carefully along the source of the hurt, counting the offending places. Chest… left shoulder, finding his collarbone. He followed its outline, wincing, feeling an interruption in the symmetry. He pressed a little too hard and he felt it give, and he sucked in a breath. He swore in silence. -_shit, broken_—

The surface at the point of the break was abraded and bloody from the impact of the cooler, but luckily nothing broke the skin from beneath. The metallic taste in his mouth was strong, and his nose felt numb. He felt the flow of blood from it, or somewhere. It was warm and wet on his face, and he felt a sinking dismay. -_aw crap- _Again he used his fingers to assess the damage, but everything felt in place there. He had a stinging, raw rug burn from cheek to chin, he must have hit his face against something textured, the seat back, maybe. His left eye felt like it was swelling shut.

He gritted his teeth and rolled over, steeling himself against any other possible injuries, but was relieved that nothing else hurt with any serious urgency. The interior was chaotic with things that had earlier been stowed neatly in the back, or under seats—leaving precious little room to move. As far as he could tell, he was alone. He slowly raised himself on to hands and knees, weaving, and when the threat of passing out abated, he took a deep breath and negotiated the tangle, his hands finding the cargo door. He tried in vain to open it but it was jammed.

He swore again, and rested for a moment, leaning against the wall of the van, and holding his left arm tightly to his side. The window glass was broken into a fine lace like pattern, Dean pushed at it until it fell apart, showering him with little razor-edged jewels. A wall of fetid air hit him and he pushed his head and arms through the opening, groaning with the effort. The darting pain from the fracture sickened him, but he managed it and hauled himself all the way out, grasping the trunk of the nearest tree and dropping his feet in search of ground.

There was none, and he slid instead into black water, surprisingly deep—as his fingers lost their grip on the tree. He went under for a second, and he came up choking, spitting out the foul taste as he struggled around the van to higher ground. When his feet felt solid footing, he dragged himself out of the water and rested momentarily, but the nausea was overwhelming, and he retched with violence until he wept, and lay panting against the earth.

Dean lay still for some time, coaxing the pain flashing behind his eyes to settle down to something bearable. When he could sit up again, he shielded his vision and surveyed the scene. His gaze followed the scarred and broken path made by the van. His brain was frustratingly sluggish, concussion, probably... Certainly felt like he'd cracked his head. He crawled back toward the van. He could see the windshield. It, and the driver-side glass, had the same fine pattern of cracks. But it was intact, and he surmised that nothing, no one—had been thrown through it. The doors were still closed, so Sam wasn't ejected. And Sam always wore his seatbelt anyway. Dean could see it, still clasped, hanging empty from the overturned seat.

Yet he knew his brother wasn't in the van. It made no sense. He choked back a sob of frustration, trying to remember what had precipitated the crash. He had been asleep on the bench. Sam had ...yelled. He woke up, and the driver's seat was empty. -_Empty_. Sam was gone, before the crash..._how could that be-_? He dropped his head onto his arm and closed his eyes against the harsh sunlight. _Sammy-—where the hell are you-_?

Sam found himself in a clearing. Unlike the endless swampy vista surrounding him, the place beneath his feet was firm and dry. He stood still, watching, hugging his arms to himself in fear and confusion.. He had no idea how he got there.

The child creature crouched on the ground several yards away, staring at him, still wearing the same ugly twisted expression it had when it spirited him from the van. The yellow eyes burned with hungry intensity—_snake's eyes_— Sam had the uneasy feeling it was on the verge of flying at him, with violence its intent. But it just sat, rocking on its haunches, grinning. Sam became aware that it smelled like something putrefying, like death itself. He was so frightened that he had to remind himself to breathe.

"What do you make of our little friend, Sammy-?" a voice asked from behind him.

Still in shock, Sam whirled around, coming face to face with his most hated enemy. A man with a pleasant, smiling face. And the same unearthly yellow eyes. The yellow-eyed demon.

He clapped Sam on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. "Sit down, Sam. Let's chat a while…"

Sam remained standing. "What…what_ is_ that thing?" he shuddered.

"Mmm? Oh, that's Lukas. Or more accurately, he _was_ Lukas, once. Cute kid, likes to play here in the swamp. Think he lived out here, a long time ago. He was a nasty little piece of work, mean to puppies and kittens, did _awful_ things to his family…" the Demon chuckled. "That kid'll eat just about anything…won't you, sport?"

The child-thing grinned wider, and looked closer than ever to springing.

"I sent him to fetch you, Sam. I promised he might be able to play with you."

Sam tore his eyes away from it and back to his nemesis. "Why am I here?" he demanded. "Where's my brother?"

Demon smiled with his usual irritating, saccharine manner. "Mmm...yeah, your brother... " he sighed, with mock sadness. "Don't you remember, Sammy? I believe you were driving the van, and then...well, you weren't anymore. Don't know what you were thinking, van can't drive by itself...that was just asking for trouble…"

Sam's heart was in his throat. "What...what did you do to him?"

"Me? I did nothing. Your driverless van rolled in the swamp." he laughed. "Poor Dean... Nothing _ever_ goes his way, does it? Probably drowning as we speak—"

Sam stood open-mouthed with horror, shaking his head. "No...you're lying, you're lying to me—"

Demon shrugged. "Doesn't matter, Sam. It's one way or another with that pain-in-the-ass. _You're_ the important one." But he mentally berated himself.._honey_ catches flies, not vinegar. He was alienating his fly instead of wooing him. He softened his expression to something that radiated contrition. "Just playing with you, Sammy—sorry. Your brother's just fine.." he lied.

The relief he saw on Sam's face was cloyingly pathetic. _Good_. He could use that. He got to his purpose. "Sam. Sammy...you're always resisting me. Why do you do that? I brought you here to show you what you're losing by fighting me."

Sam's face was a mask of hate. "You're wasting your time!"

But Demon continued. "_Power_, Sam. That's what you'll give up without me. Power to live the life you want. You can change anything, you don't have to live this crap existence with your brother. You can have it all, everything that you think is lost to you." Demon's voice was a lullaby… "Your mother, your dad, together –growing old , happy. Jess... Your law career. All of it, lost because your jealous brother forces you to resist…" He looked at Sam, eyes sad, pleading..

Sam was mesmerized, but at the mention of Dean he shook it off. "No! You're the reason this all happened. Dean's the only one who knows! He protects me—"

"He _limits_ you! " Demon spat harshly. He struggled to regain a friendly countenance. _Honey, not vinegar_— "I can show you, Sam, how I can give you what you lost again…" And he filled Sam's mind with visions, of happy family, of Jess, his future with her, his successes. Silver haired Mother and father, lovingly cradling grand children...Christmases, green grass and picket fences...everything he wanted out of life, and all so achingly perfect.

Sam dropped his knees, enraptured, consumed by the visions. _Everything I wanted_… And he wanted it so much...so much it hurt. He swayed, still on his knees, soaking up the beauty of what he was being fed. It was more than seeing, he _felt_ it, like he was living it at the very moment. Demon murmured to him as the imagery floated through his mind, cajoling, encouraging…It was like music, soft and alluring….

But something soured his euphoria, an awareness of loss, a missing piece of a puzzle. _His brother_. Dean figured in none of the scenes. He would have been there at his wedding, at the birth of his first child, at all these proud moments. He alone was missing in all of it, in everything he was shown. It felt profoundly wrong.

He forced his mind to turn away. "No." he said softly. Then louder, more firmly— "NO!"

Demon was enraged. "What's the matter, Sam, not good enough? Is there something else you want?" And he turned the imagery he'd been feeding him to darker things. He forced him to experience scenes of Dean, half-submerged in the van, crying out in agony and calling out for him, as the water filled the interior. He showed him his brother suffering, wild-eyed with terror and begging for Sam to save him, the foul black water swirling around his bloody, tear-stained face, slowly submerging him as he choked out _please Sammy_ over and over—

Sam screamed, railing against what he was seeing.

_ Dean rested at the brackish water's edge. The silence was suffocating.. A black bird flew by, in eerie slow motion, each muffled wing-beat a reverberating pulse. The air was thick and oppressive, as if it was heavy with malice. He tried not to draw breath. The black water, so still, so dark—began to ripple._

_He sat watching, mesmerized- as small, almost transparently white hands broke its surface. They reached out, clawing at the bank. More hands followed, thin white arms flailing, hands scrabbling—searching, like frantic snakes. There were dozens of them. Dean stared, transfixed in horror, as the hands found his ankle and began to pull him in to the water's dark opacity. He screamed without sound, kicking at them as more and more hands found him and drew him down, until the black water swallowed him and its surface was still once more…_

He bolted upright, breathless and sweating in panic. He stared at the water, fearfully. But it seemed normal, only the occasional insect rippled the surface. -_Nightmare_. He must have passed out, apparently for hours. The sun was now dropping—the horizon a vibrant mix of tangerine and pink. His spasm at waking brought a rush of pain, and he swore repeatedly, holding his arms to chest and rocking compulsively until it waned. He was thirsty and hot, his mouth felt like dust. He glanced around in the vain hope that Sam had returned, and he called out his name several times, straining to hear an answer. There was only the hum of insects.

Mosquitoes were attacking him without mercy, he wished he had his long-sleeved shirt, which he'd pulled off when he'd lain down on the back seat. -_christ, his head hur_t… He remembered the well stocked cooler. He didn't want to crawl into the van, it hurt like a bitch crawling out of it, but he desperately needed to drink something, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be that black sludge. He had few options. He managed his way down the bank and kicked out the remaining glass of a broken window on the dry bank side of the van—after the dream there was no way he was going back through that water. He put his feet through the opening and struggled into the interior.

He found the cooler sitting upright in a rare stroke of luck, and unlatched it. The glass bottles were mostly smashed, but anything in plastic had survived. He pulled out several. He searched the dark interior until his hands found his shirt, and he bundled the drinks into it and crawled back out and onto the bank. He rested momentarily, settling his stomach as the pain of his collar bone slowed again to a manageable thing, and then tugged his shirt over his shoulders. The pocket was heavy, and he rummaged in it to see what was there.

It was Ash's blessed cell phone. He blinked in a stupor, he couldn't believe it was right there in his hand. He almost cried in relief. He punched the numbers with shaking hands, praying he'd have range here in this stinking wilderness. -_please, please answer, Sammy_-

But all he got was an automated message. His heart sank. He tried the next number. The second call was ringing….a voice answered in greeting.

_"Hello-?"_

"Bobby?" he croaked.

The wary voice demanded, " _Who is this?"_

"It...it's Dean."

_"Dean! Sorry, you sounded weird...what's up?"_

"Bobby-" Dean's throat was so dry, he should have cracked a drink first… "The van...had an accident...we rolled it."

"_What? Aw, jeesus Dean!"_

"I...I'm sorry, man, I..." he stammered as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

Bobby softened. "_Look, never-mind the van, buddy, are you ok?_"

Dean sighed. "No.." He was silent for a moment.. "Sam's gone—disappeared."

Dean sounded so damned strange. It suddenly dawned on Bobby, this wasn't just a courtesy call—he was calling from the accident site. "_Dean—listen to me, are you hurt?_"

"I can't find him, Bobby."

_"I hear you, man—now tell me if you're hurt!"_

"Me? " he asked, pausing as if it were puzzlingly irrelevant. "Uh….yeah, think I smacked my head pretty hard…and my face, …and broke something, my collarbone...I don't know what else."

Bobby's guts froze. _"Are you bleeding anywhere?"_

"Bleeding?"…He put a hand to his face and it came away slick with blood. "Yeah...no...I mean, not anymore, I think."

_"Christ! Where are you, do you know?…Dean!"_

Dean was having difficulty concentrating. "Just lemme think for a minute...we were heading out, to some state park...everglades, to see some alligators… Must be pretty close, it's all swamp here."

"_What road, Dean—you gotta tell me!_"

"I...I dunno, just...Sally's short-cut…"

_"Ok, I'm gonna call Sally and get you out of there. Are you ok for a little while?"_

Dean stared around him and drew a shaky breath. "He just vanished out of the van while he was driving it, Bobby. I was sleeping, and...and he yelled, something-.. I woke up and he wasn't there. I grabbed the wheel but the van rolled...and— Aw, man-...I just...I don't know what's happening!"

Bobby could hear the distress and confusion in his voice. _"Slow down, Dean. Sam vanished out of the van? Before you crashed? Are you sure?"_

Dean's voice was breaking. "Yeah…I wasn't dreaming, Bobby, I swear; no one was driving, and it hit the ditch and rolled!"

_"Easy, buddy, Sally's gonna pick you up. Will you be ok 'til then? I can call 911-"_

"No—don't, I can wait.. I'm just here on the bank, by the van. But I can't leave him here-"

_"It's alright, we'll find him, Dean. Now, I gotta call Sally, ok?"_

"Yeah. I'll wait here."

"_Good. Help's coming, Dean, I'll call you back. You hang in there."_ Bobby hung up and took stock for a moment. Dean sounded pretty shocky. This was bad. But as bizarre as Dean's tale was, his hunter's instinct trusted that it happened as he'd described. Dean was a solid guy, if he said Sam was taken from the vehicle without a trace, mid drive, well that smacked of something powerful, something possibly demonic. At least they knew Sam wasn't thrown out of the vehicle in the roll-over. Then it would have been a grim search for body-retrieval.

He remembered Emily's warning. -_Damn!_ He dialed Sally. He got through on the second try, and tersely recounted the situation, warning her of possible danger. She assured him she could handle it, and he had no doubt, and she knew the road and they'd speed out asap. She'd keep him posted. Bobby was relieved. At least Dean could be brought to safety. Sam was a whole different problem. He rubbed his beard, worrying. He was going to have to get down there, and fast. At least he had some cash saved, the ramp truck was a pig on gas…

He called Dean back, to check on him, and let him know she was on her way. But he got no answer.

"Emmy, get your coat, we've got some trouble!" Sally yelled.

Emily already knew, she was sitting on her bed, rocking, her mind flashing frightening chaotic hues, a lightning storm of warnings. She hated the knowing, it was never specific enough help stop the troubles, all she knew was that something bad was happening.. Hearing Sally's call, she mentally clamped the doors shut on the aura and hastened to meet her, and they swiftly got on the road.

Sam's mind raged against the imagery Demon was forcing on it. He howled defiance and twisted his head from side to side forcing his brain to reject it. _-Lies! This isn't- happening, it's just the same as the other vision, it's NOT REAL! _He succeeded in casting it off, and stood up, panting. "You're a god-damned liar! he seethed. "I will kill you if it takes my last breath!"

Demon was furious, Sam was stronger, more disciplined than he'd anticipated. Forgetting that his purpose was to lure him sweetly into the fold, Demon gave in to his natural rage and spite. The friendly, mild countenance was gone, replaced by a vindictive sneer. "Well, you had the brass ring in your hands, Sam, but you dropped it. You're a loser, and I'm tired of this pointless little exercise! You and the kid can play now!" he snarled. His arm flew up in an irritated gesture of dismissal, and Sam was flung backwards into the trees at the edge of the knoll. It knocked him silly for a moment, and he barely had time to see Demon vanish in a haze of sulphurous stink before the thing launched itself at his throat.

It was getting so dark. Sally knew that the shortcut would have taken a half hour off the two hour trip. And they'd been on the road for an hour and a quarter already, scanning both sides.

"Red—" Emily said, over and over. Sally wasn't sure if she meant an article of clothing or something, or the colour she saw when she had touched Dean. Or god-forbid, something more ominous. Emily didn't know either. Sally really felt like telling her to shut up, that it wasn't helping—but she knew better. Emily saw a lot of strange things, but it was rare for her to see something so intensely specific. She sure seemed to connect with these two.

Something caught her eye. "There!" Sally barked. She slowed the jeep and pulled over. It was something red alright, out of place in the shadowy dark greens. It was Dean's shirt. He was lying on the bank, and he didn't stir at the sound of the jeep. Sally got out and approached him, terrified of what she would discover. She reached out tentatively, touching him. He was still warm.

He was still with them. She exhaled the breath she'd been holding fearfully. He was unconscious, soaked, and shivering. He had a cell phone clutched in a death-grip to his chest. She shook him gently, praying he'd come around.

"Dean? Dean, it's Sally..."

He groaned and turned over, trying to focus with the eye that would open.

The overturned van caught her eye, it shocked her to see it. "Can you sit up?"

He wasn't sure, he was still bewildered.

Sally had been warned about what his injuries likely were, she was careful to avoid pulling him up by his arms. She shone her flashlight over his form, checking for anything obvious. She could see his face was a bloody mess. He did manage to struggle to a sitting position. She held him there to keep him from slumping back down. He was heavy, she felt like a weak old woman and she hated it.

"Dean...Dean, which side hurts?"

"Here…" he mumbled, pointing to his left.

"Ok, then. I'm gonna put your right arm over my shoulder, you hear? You need to help me get you up."

"Ok." Without thinking he pushed himself up with his left. He grunted in pain and dropped back to the ground, pulling her down with him. He rested for a few minutes until the shooting pain of his fracture died down to a dull beat, and he could try again. After a couple of false starts the two managed to get to a standing position. Sally guided him, stumbling to the jeep, and settled him into the back.

He was reasonably lucid by now, but agitated. "Sally, no, please...I have to stay here! Sam's out there! I can't go!"

"You can't do anything in this dark, Dean. Bobby's coming, he'll find him. You're hurt, you have to come back with us now."

"Bobby? "

"Yes, honey. He's driving out now. He'll know how to find Sam, don't you fret. Let's get you patched up, ok? Then you can help."

But all Dean could think of was that he was abandoning his brother. "No! Jeezus Sally, don't make me leave him, he'll come back and I won't be here!" He was getting frantic, and he pushed against her and struggled back out of the jeep. She nabbed him by the arm, unfortunately the left, and he dropped to his knees, cursing. She knelt beside him, and Emily exited to help. The two women got him up again and sat him on the seat edge.

"Dean, honey, listen to me." Emily spoke gently as she held his face in her hands. "You cannot stay here, it is too dangerous. How can you help him if you're unconscious , or worse? Sam will have the sense to stay put until light, you know that. There is nothing you can do until morning, and I'd say the same if you weren't hurt. Do you understand? You _must_ come now!"

Sally added, "Bobby is on his way, he'll be here tomorrow. And first thing in the morning we'll hire a helicopter to search, I promise. Please, Dean, let us help you!"

He knew they were right. And he knew he was at his limit. He sighed wearily and closed his eyes in defeat. "Ok." He settled back on the seat and Sally shut the door. He couldn't believe he was in this hell again. Sam, gone. And god knows what was happening to him.

And here he was, hurt again, f—king useless. He wanted to tear his hair out in frustration. All they'd wanted was some down time. a little fun. Some god-damned _peace_. He fought back against hot tears that won anyway.

Sally took off her jacket and tucked it around him. Then she got in, gave Bobby a quick call to let him know they had him, and floored it hard to home.

Emily had the intensity of Dean's scarlet aura still burning in her mind. So strong, both the brothers, so unusual...when it struck her.

"Green! Green and blue!" she shouted abruptly, and turned around to speak in his direction. "His aura, just now…So strong, god, I could almost feel it! I thought of him, and there it was! Oh Dean, he's still with us, you hear?" She was beaming.

He was curled up, shivering, a picture of misery. Emily reached out and found his hand. "Sam's still here, and strong! Dean, listen to what I'm telling you, I saw his colours!"

The strange electricity from her touch snapped him out of it. It took a moment for him to comprehend what she was going on about, but the significance of her words reached him.

"Sammy?"

"Yes, yes, Sammy!" she laughed tearfully.


	4. Chapter 4

PART 4

They got him into the cottage, and sat him down on his bed. Sally helped him out of his wet pants and turned her head discreetly as she helped with some dry shorts.. The knee brace was soaked –she unfastened and removed it. _Explains the limp, _she thought. She carefully pulled off his tee-shirt. She couldn't help but notice his fitness. _Put together pretty well… _All his most recent scars were livid against his Midwest-milk skin tone, and it shocked her. "Oh...honey, did you take a header through a combine up there in Nebraska?"

Dean smiled wearily. "Long story, Sally. I'll tell you if you get me that bottle of JD over there on the dresser…"

She fetched it for him, asking, "Need a glass?"

"Nope." He closed his eyes as he downed several generous swallows. "That's better." he sighed.

She looked at him with sympathy. "So what happened up there?"

He gave her a blunt synopsis of their recent experiences. When he was finished, she sat back, shaking her head. "Good lord, no wonder you need a bloody vacation!" she said, shocked by the spate of punishing he'd been through.

"Yeah…" he sighed. But so far we kinda suck at it."

Emily brought a bowl of hot water and soap and towels, and a bag of ice. Dean marveled that she knew exactly where to set it, and that she negotiated around the furniture flawlessly. Sally proceeded to wash the swamp muck off his skin, then he settled back so that she could work on his battered face. After gently scrubbing off the congealing blood she could assess the damage. He hadn't broken his nose—he'd figured that already. But he had a nasty cut over the bridge, and a raw looking scrape that ran from his left cheekbone to chin. Not to mention a shiner.. It was the raised gash at his hairline that was more worrisome. Bobby had said he sounded a little confused on the phone. She'd have to watch him for concussion. She applied antibiotic and bandages as he squirmed. The rest of him was black and blue, the result of being tossed in the van's roll along with god-knows-what. There was nothing she could do about that.

Which left the fracture. Sally was out of her element there. She took the ice pack off and looked it over, and saw the misalignment, slightly swollen, and bruised. She was afraid to touch it. "Dean, I don't know what to do here…" she admitted. "You really should let me take you to the hospital."

He didn't know the remedy either, all he knew was that it hurt with every movement —but he knew someone who did know what to do. "Could you pass me my phone?"

She did and he speed dialed his valued friend Dr. David Bowman. Thankfully, David answered, and Dean quickly filled him in on the situation. The poor doc was again shocked and saddened by their continuing misfortune. Dean got to the point. "She needs to know how to fix this up, if she can. -Here, I'll pass you over—" Dean handed the cell to Sally. Sally listened carefully to David's instructions, frowning, before handing it back.

David cautioned him. " Christ, Dean, this is far from ideal—you need to get some x-rays done. Right now she's got to re-align it to set it. It'll hurt, Dean, quite a bit—but it should settle down fairly quickly if you keep it still. There's no cast for this, just keep your arm tensor-wrapped to your side for a few days—well, _weeks_, if you're a normal person. Then you can switch to a sling if you need to be ready to use that hand… But keep the bloody sling _on_ this time, ok?. Take ibuprofen, max the dose. And for god's sake, stay down and rest for a while. You have to let Bobby handle this! Please, Dean, you know he'll find Sam. I'm going to try to get out of teaching this week, I'll come down as soon as I can. ..And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll…uh...you know, pray for you guys. Good luck, buddy.."

"Thanks, Doc. I'll call you later."

He put the phone down, and sighed. He turned to her, wearily, "You ok with this, Sally?"

"As long as you are. But I'm no expert, honey, and I'm a little freaked that I'm going to hurt you. You want that bottle again?"

He nodded and drained some more of its contents. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast—the buzz was hitting him with comforting speed.. "Don't be, Sally. Trust me, I've had worse." He took one more swig and put the bottle aside. "Well..." he smiled wanly, "Go for it."

She couldn't look at his face, or she'd lose her nerve. As instructed, she gently worked the two sides of the bone under his skin until they met, forcing them back together until it felt like they were meshed somewhat. It was an odd, crunchy sensation, like pushing two sandy Lego blocks together. She was both fascinated and repulsed. He drew a sharp breath, his stomach tightening. He was trying hard not to voice any sound for her sake. It only took a moment or two, and when it was done, he released the fistful of blanket he was crushing into felt, and huffed out a broken exclamation.

"S-son-of-a-!"

She handed him the JD and waited while he swallowed some more, then confiscated it and took a healthy couple of swigs herself before putting it away. "I think that worked, it felt right...how you doing?"

His eyes were shut tight, but he gave her a thumbs up gesture. He'd broken bones many times, but the collarbone particularly always hurt like a bitch. The bourbon was working nicely, though, and he slowly relaxed and looked up at her lined, tense face.

"Thanks, Pippi, you're the best.."

She smiled at him, relieved. She helped him sit up and wrapped the tensor bandage around his arm and midriff. _Crap, here we go again_, he thought, hating the trapped feeling. She loaded him up with some advil. "Sleep, Dean, just for a while. I'll have to keep waking you, sorry. Don't go taking a swing at me, I might clock you back without thinking. I'll get you something to eat in a little bit. In the meantime I'll check out the charter services. I'll tell you if I hear from Bobby."

She squeezed his arm and left, and Emily was about to follow her. She stopped and felt for his hand. "Rest now, Dean. He_ is_ alive, I can feel it." she assured him softly. "This aura, it's so strong, and I'm never wrong."

"Thanks, Emily...it really helps." he whispered, and closed his eyes.

Sally went out and sat on the porch steps. The frogs and crickets were singing a peaceful chorus. Stars peppered the clear night sky. She fumbled with shaking hands through her her shirt pocket, and when she found what she needed, she lit up the well-earned joint, and took a deep draw. She put it aside then, and dropped her head against her folded arms, and cried. After a few moments, Emily joined her, and Sally leaned on her, and rested her head on her shoulder.

- Sam threw his hands up defensively, just in time, and his forearms took the brunt of the assault meant for his throat.

It's ragged nails raked through his skin, but he didn't have time to notice as it flew at him again. He kicked it away—hardly believing that this pale, slight creature could be so strong and relentless-

All night—the child thing—insatiable in its hunger for violence and blood—attacked him—whispering his name like a chant, as if Sam had been given to it like some gift— It had the body of an eight year old boy—but the strength and ferocity of a panther. Sam had never encountered its equal—there was nothing ethereal about it –it had a robust, physical state-So it wasn't a ghost, although it had some sort of unspeakable human history- but it was certainly demonic enough…it shared the glowing eyes of Demon-and it had an intensity of purpose that would put a werewolf to shame. And the damned thing never lost it's rictus of a grin-

He was bitten, clawed, and slashed repeatedly. He was losing blood alarmingly, and strength with it. It was almost an advantage to let it draw blood, it would stop, and suck its hands and fingers in ecstasy. Sam had no time or means to stop it, he had to wrack his brain for solutions in these brief moments while it was mesmerized, consuming the source of his waning strength.

Since it was summoned and controlled by a demon, he had to assume it was, by description or by default, demonic. He thought his only choice was a demon trap, he didn't know of any other trick that could possibly fit. In his few seconds of respite, he scratched segments of the symbol into the dirt—relying solely on moonlight to illuminate his efforts, and interrupted frequently by the annoying need to defend his life against the thing. Time and time again he fought it off, drawing and re-drawing his trap. He was torn up badly by now. Nothing inflicted damage like a set of almost human teeth, and it's nails were beyond the scope of human growth. Sam was feeling weak and light-headed when he finally completed his image in the dirt. He dropped to the ground, exhausted, the trap between he and the demon-child.

It was busily gleaning Sam's latest blood loss from its hands. When it realized there was nothing left to savour, it once again turned its attention to him. Its eyes fluoresced in the twilight.

-Sam sat still, panting. He was at the end of his rope, and this had to work. It was do or die time. He was so tired, he didn't have the strength to fight it off much longer. Pain made him dizzy, his blood loss was too substantial to ignore. The trap _had_ to work. Their battles had obliterated it in its incomplete stage a dozen times, but this time the image was closed and complete. Sam didn't worry that the creature would suspect, it obviously wasn't a calculating kind of demon, as all it did was throw itself at him and then stop, enraptured by the bloody result. All he had to do was lure it to the spot. He didn't have to devise any elaborate plan, he knew from experience it would simply launch itself at him again.

He sat, weaving on his knees, as it watched him. He knew it was only a matter of seconds before it resumed its blood lust. When it did, flying again toward him, he closed his eyes and prayed.

-Dean slept fitfully, his body exhausted. Unfortunately his brain didn't get the memo, and it continued on with torturous dreams. He tossed and turned, fighting against the scenarios playing out in his mind. Both Sally and Emily took turns staying in the cottage, waking Dean and running him through his post-concussive paces at hourly intervals. They too were exhausted. Regardless of their island lifestyle, they were still women in their sixties, and they had less staying power than they used to. Certainly less than Sally liked, anyway. When he finally settled into a more peaceful slumber. Emily sighed, and whispered, - _thank-you, Ada_- She couldn't see her, but she knew the brown cat had curled up against Dean, protectively, maternally. It immediately calmed his mind. She knew it was safe for her to return to the studio to her own bed.

All three enjoyed a few hours respite before the sun rose. Dean awoke at six-thirty, stiff and sore. His hand was cradling a soft form, he didn't recognize it until it got up, looked at him, stretched, and left. -_Brown cat_..

Sally had already been online, looking into booking "sight-seeing" tours with chopper charters. She succeeded in lining one up to meet them as soon as Dean could manage it. She knew that whatever his state this morning, there would be no way he was going to stay behind while they searched for Sam. She put a breakfast together and headed off to the Jezebel. When she reached the cottage, she opened the door, and found Dean sitting on the edge of his bed. His eye had calmed down and was much less swollen, although the bruising was darkening. She guessed the ice had helped. He said his headache had waned, thankfully. But he still looked like shit, she decided. She offered him her breakfast bundle, which he gratefully accepted.

"Chopper's booked as soon as you're ready, Dean…" she said.

He nodded.

"Emmy's still sleeping, since she had the last shift last night. She'll stay behind and wait for your doctor friend and Bobby. I'll come with you on the flight."

Dean wished she wouldn't refer to the charter in those terms. His issue with flying wasn't limited to commercial airplanes. Anything that left the ground by more than a few yards was suspect, but he tried to ignore his phobia for Sam's sake. He was beside himself with worry anyway. There were miles upon miles of swamp out there. He had no idea where to start searching, other than beginning at the location of the van. He had no memory of anything before having to grab the steering wheel.

Sally helped him dress. She could see he was hiding the pain he was in, but it was pointless to address it-, they both knew it had to proceed this way. She watched as he tucked a hand gun into his waistband, and another gun, a flask , a book and a bag of salt into a small backpack. He borrowed her first aid kit, since theirs was still somewhere in the van. She knew enough about the whole business that she didn't need any explanation. But her stomach knotted fearfully. She promised him a good strong coffee at their place.

When he was ready, they headed back to the studio and called the charter to come out. Dean savoured his brew, it gave him a little life, which he sorely needed. He dialed Sam, as he had a hundred times in the past few hours, and got the hated message yet again. He reflected on Emily's words mere hours ago. - _Sam. Alive, and still strong. _He kept those words shining like a beacon in his mind.

-Sam prayed. The thing flew at him, as it had dozens of times before, when suddenly its headlong rush halted abruptly. It stopped dead in its tracks, confused, then growing wild with fury as it stared at the symbol in which it was ensnared. It howled at Sam, trying to reach him with outstretched arms while it stayed hopelessly rooted to the spot. When the full significance of its imprisonment dawned on it, it let loose an unearthly wail that shattered the stillness of the night and sent creatures scattering in terror from the trees surrounding them. Sam watched tensely, and was satisfied that it had worked. Relief washed over him and he dropped exhausted to the earth. The child-demon's protest faded from his ears, a curtain of shapeless black overtook him and he heard and saw nothing more.

-They started to hear, and then feel—the chopper's approach. When the pilot had landed on the lawn, Sally and Dean entered the craft. Sally spoke to him, directing him as to where they wished to start. He radioed in a course, shrugging at their choice. -_Nothing out there but cypress and moss_- He was a little bemused by his clients; an aging hippy sort of woman, and a younger guy who looked like he'd just lost a bar-fight. Neither of them looked too happy about this tour. Just a little odd.

It was only a short time before they were hovering over the van. It was mostly hidden by the foliage, the pilot didn't see it, but Dean and Sally had. She saw his drawn features tighten at the view. They could only guess in which direction to go next.. Dean's eyes were trained tensely out the window. He was singing something to himself-. She couldn't hear it but she could make out what the words were as she watched him. Ada's song. She looked away, cursing her emotions. When she turned back to him, she was startled to see the brown cat suddenly sitting in his lap. The din of the helicopter was too loud to speak. She shook his arm and pointed. Dean looked down. The cat stared at him, pointedly, and moved off toward the pilot.

The pilot was not at all pleased to be confronted by an animal in the cockpit. He turned around, demanding to know who brought a damned pet on board. Sally and Dean shrugged. But Sally knew it was there for a purpose, this creature, whatever she was, did not act on her whim alone. She watched the cat for some clue as to what it was up to and it quickly became clear that it intended to direct this little foray. The brown cat returned to Sally and mewed plaintively, turning her stare to the right. Sally caught Dean's eye, he nodded_—the dead cat wants to lead the parade—that's perfectly logical-what the hell else are you gonna do-_?"

"Hey—can you head right?" she yelled. The pilot nodded and turned the craft in the chosen direction. The cat returned to Sally. She and Dean scanned the swampy vista, looking for anything that could possibly indicate someone's presence. It all looked the same, hopelessly consistent. Again the cat became agitated and vocal, indicating another direction. And again Sally requested a turn of the pilot.

Dean was growing weary of scanning the endless tree-scape. Nothing stood out. Nothing showed him any hint of Sam. He rubbed his tired eyes, his headache was returning with a vengeance and he was trying his best to beat down his panic over being separated from terra firma. Sally saw it and tapped his arm, offering a bottle of advil from her pocket. He nodded and took it from her hand.

The cat got up. She hopped to the front of the cabin and bumped her head against the right side window, mewing. The pilot, apparently not an cat fan, shooed her away, glaring at Sally. Sally ignored him and pointed right, and he again turned in that direction. She and Dean scanned below.

Suddenly a slight clearing came into view. It was raised from the surrounding wetland and had a dry, open area at its highest point. Sally had the pilot hover closer. They could see two figures, one crouched, and one prone, at the edge of the clearing. The cat leapt onto Dean, butting her head hard against his chest and yowling sharply.

And then—she was gone. Her message was clear enough. Dean shouted a request to drop down, to land if possible. The pilot assessed the site, deciding there was enough open space, and nodded. He set down in the center, and when it was safe to do so, Dean bolted from the craft and ran towards the duo, shouting at Sally to stay back. She chafed at the order but she stayed, and it was all she could do to keep their skittish pilot from abandoning them as he watched the bizarre scene unfold on the clearing.

The taller figure stood up unsteadily, and began waving frantically. As Dean got nearer, he was relieved to see his brother. Sam was alive, bloodied but seemingly able enough. Sam was shouting at him, and as he approached, he was just able to make it out over the noise of the idling helicopter.

"Shut it down! Shut it down!' Sam screamed in panic, pointing wildly at the craft.

The wind generated by the blades was whipping the loose dirt up, it was beginning to erase the demon trap scratched on the ground. Sam fell to his knees, still gesturing a kill motion to his brother and pointing frantically at the blades and at the other figure. Dean stopped, suddenly understanding, and he ran back to the chopper, urgently shouting to the pilot to kill the engine and shut it down. The pilot shook his head, preparing instead to get the hell out of this strange situation. Sally saw his intent, and she grabbed him by his collar from behind, twisting it tight until he was choking. He wisely obliged, and the rotor powered down.

Hearing the blades slow, Dean turned back, stumbling his way again to Sam, who was now on his hands and knees. With his last ounce of strength, Sam stood up as his brother reached him, and collapsed against him.. Dean tried to hold him with his one free arm, but he was just too heavy. His inert weight pulled both of them back down to the ground. He checked Sam's pulse and was relieved to find it rapid but consistent. He was appalled by the blood, it was everywhere. He settled Sam gently on the ground and looked up nervously at the strange figure still trapped within the nearly faded symbol, knowing it was somehow responsible for all this.

It looked like some messed up little kid, pale, wet, and dirty. At the moment it sat, rocking slightly, head down and thin little arms hugging its knees miserably. It was weeping, like any normal kid that was spent after a tantrum. Dean felt a twinge of sympathy, he couldn't envision this pathetic little wraith causing the damage Sam had suffered. But it raised its head, and its eyes bored into his own. There was nothing harmless about the burning yellow, demon's eyes that met his own. Dean stared at it in horror as a horrible rictus spread across its bloodied mouth. It drew a breath and it breathed his name, reaching out for him.

-_Deeeean_-

_What the f—k_? Dean thought, struck still for a moment by the searing evil it suddenly exuded. He'd never seen anything like it… But whatever the hell it was, it seemed contained for the moment, and he turned his attention back to Sam. The younger man was losing blood alarmingly, Dean felt it soaking through his sleeve where he supported him. He had to get him out of here, demon-thing be damned for now. He and Bobby could return and somehow get rid of it later.

He tried valiantly to drag Sam back to the safety of the helicopter, but he was hindered by Sam's weight and his own injuries, and too weak to manage it. But Sally had seen his struggle and she sprinted out and joined him, and the two of them got Sam's heavy, limp form to the door. She yelled at their reluctant pilot to help get him inside and he had enough healthy fear of her to comply.

Her face blanched at the sight of Sam, she'd never seen so much blood. Outside, Dean leaned against the fuselage of the copter, trying to catch his breath and calm his screaming headache. He was on the verge of blacking out, but his hand found something to grip on the side of the craft and he shut his eyes and rode it out until his sight returned and the hissing died down in his ears. When he could safely move again he got up into the craft and helped Sally, who was already binding Sam's wounds.

Sam was alert again, and he stared at his brother with immeasurable gratitude and relief. He needed to speak, but it was an effort, and Sally was trying to shush him. But Dean leaned closer and heard him out.

"Wind will take out the trap, when we take off—" he struggled to say. "—We have to draw it deeper…" The effort cost him, his eyes were rolling.

Dean nodded. "I hear you, Sam, I'm on it!" He warned the pilot to stay put until he got back, and not to restart until then, and he grabbed his pack and loped back to the creature's place. Once there, he took a sturdy stick and ground the trap deep into the soil as the child demon screamed and lashed out at him. He was terrified of it, leaning away and ducking reflexively, but he continued to cut the image into a trough, then pulled out the salt from his pack—tearing the sack open with his teeth and filling the lines for good measure. Finished, he stumbled back, over-taxed, and growled between exhausted gasps— "Try to get out of that, you disgusting little hellspawn!"

The thing howled a wail that would stay burned in Dean's mind for a long, long time. He backed away a few more steps and fell, staying there for a moment to catch his breath. He whipped his head around, hearing the rotor start its whine, and he realized their over-eager pilot was making moves to flee. He got up and lurched toward the chopper, falling a few yards short and crawling the remaining distance to the door. There was no way in hell he was going to stay behind with that freak, and Sally helped him in, hauling him up and dragging him until he was safely inside.

The frightened pilot turned around, and with an anxious gesture, yelled, "_NOW_ can we go?"

Both Dean and Sally nodded. They rose up , away from the hummock, the demon thing quickly disappearing from sight. Dean lay panting, his eyes closed. The last sprint just about did it… He felt a hand on his shoulder. When he turned, he saw that it was Sam's. It was the last thing he'd remember of the flight.


	5. Chapter 5

PART 5

The flight was so short. Sally had very little time to make the decisions she was loath to make anyway..

Dean was unable to offer any guidance, he was unconscious. But she was fairly confident that he would be ok, it was Sam who needed immediate care. She had done what first aid she could but he had injuries in so many places that still bled freely. He was awake, but so weak, and when asked, he had insisted that a hospital was _not_ an option. She didn't understand that and she was torn between doing what they wanted, and what was the right, the _safe_—thing to do. In the end, she gave in. She had a lifetime of taking the road less traveled. She wasn't going to start imposing logic on someone else now. She instructed her bewildered pilot to return to the studio.

Perhaps her decision would have been different if she didn't have a friendly medic winging his way over already. That softened the edge of her responsibility in this situation. She looked from one brother to the other._ Too damned young._ They should be able to choose their lives, they shouldn't have to take the bullet for everyone all the time. She hated this whole hunting business. Or perhaps more accurately, she hated that there was a need for it at all. She'd seen Bobby age before his time with the path he'd chosen. Hell, he looked ten years older than she did, and he was the younger one. She abandoned her musing as the chopper settled on the lawn. She'd have to deal with the idiot pilot, keep him quiet. _Pay him or shoot him_—she thought to herself. It was a grim little joke, she could afford to buy his silence, thank god. ...And she wasn't a very good shot.

She didn't know yet what he thought of it all...hell, she didn't know what she thought herself. But she rewarded him well, with the clear understanding that he was to ask no more about it. He was more than happy to accept the bribe and get away from this odd group as soon as possible. He wasn't a stranger to an occasional clandestine mission, there was enough drug trade in the area. But by any standards, it had been one hell of a bizarre morning.

At least this time he was inclined to help without being forced, and he shut the rotor down, ready to do what he could to get the two men out of his helicopter. Not exactly altruism, but why split hairs. Emily was standing by the door. Another person, a man, moved past her toward the chopper. He introduced himself as David Bowman, the friend of the Winchesters. Sally was very relieved to see him, and he and the pilot carried the brothers, one at a time, to the cottage. Sally quickly toweled out the blood from the choppers interior, just to be safe. She waited until he had taken off and was gone from sight before hurrying with Emily to the Jezebel.

Dean had come around while being carried, and he'd insisted on walking by himself, with some support. He was anxious to see Sam. He suddenly realized that it wasn't just a mere stranger helping him, it was David.

"Shit...David! Aw man I'm glad to see you!"

David had Dean's free arm over his shoulder. "Well I guess so!" he answered, helping Dean up the steps. He settled Dean on a couch.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked, a hint of panic in his voice. David assured him that he was safe, and he went to attend the younger Winchester as Sally did her part to get rid of the pilot.

David was immediately in surgeon mode. He stripped Sam of his torn and bloody clothing as Sally brought the hot water and necessities. Sam was covered in ragged wounds, none of which was dangerous on its own, but collectively they accounted for a significant loss of blood. He drifted in and out, weak and exhausted. David knew that Dean and Sam shared a blood type, and he had brought a med kit that included the means to transfuse one donor's blood directly to the other. When he boarded his flight earlier he'd felt like a wartime field medic, his kit crudely prepared for any number of trauma scenarios.

He stitched what needed it and used butterfly bandages everywhere else. Sally replaced bowl after bowl of pink tinged water. She longed for her garden, her peaceful paintings. She wasn't weak, but this wasn't a part of her world. Not the world she'd chosen. When Sam was adequately stabilized, David turned his ministrations to Dean. He carefully examined the broken clavicle, pronouncing it well reset and not a problem.

Sally was relieved to hear that. David checked all the vitals and asked the necessary questions. In the end he was satisfied that both brothers would recover without the need for hospitalization. It was really his first experience with being field-medic-to hunters. He would have to adjust to the demands and compromises of his chosen course. This wasn't the Mayo Clinic after all.. He assured an anxious Dean that Sam was going to be fine. Sally announced that she was heading back, and that she and Emily would have some sustenance prepared for everyone shortly.

With Sam now sleeping peacefully, David And Dean had some time to discuss the last few days. Dean recounted his horrible and unsettling experience of being rolled with the van while Sam was spirited away to battle some demonic creature. And that thing was still out there, trapped in a temporary snare, a situation that had to be resolved. Dean filled and re-filled their glasses with the everpresent bourbon, and eventually he was able to let go of some of his tension. David did his best to help him through it. It was so hard for him, as he was still a neophyte . He could hardly imagine some of the things the brothers took for granted. Plus, he was a lousy drinking companion, he would always be in the cheap-date class. By the time Dean was feeling the effects, David was done in.

Dean tucked him in to his own bed and wandered back to the studio. He stopped to watch the stars for a little while. When Sally opened the door, she expected two tired and hungry men. Instead, Dean stood weaving, alone. She helped him in, got him a coffee and some of the food they'd prepared. Once he was settled, she and Emily sat with him, patiently waiting for him to speak. They could see he was exhausted.

"How is Sam?" Emily asked quietly.

Dean looked up at her. "He'll be fine, Emily. " he sighed. "I really needed to thank you, both of you...for all your help."

Sally smiled. "Part of what we do here, Dean. We're a full service vacation facility. " She snorted.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Sally, are you looped?"

"She is." Emily grinned

Dean was appalled. "Aw man, this is all our fault. Jesus, Sally, you didn't need this. You two have this perfect artsy life , and here we go and wreck it...—christ!" He sighed and dropped his head into his hand.

Emily found his hand. "Dean, Sally's state has nothing to do with you."

"Oh..?"

She grinned. "Sally's always looped on wed. night…"

He looked up at the two of them, searching their faces, and the two women dissolved into helpless laughter. He joined after a moment, shaking his head. What else could they do?

Bobby arrived late in the evening, after a marathon drive. He was absolutely beat, and he never wanted to see another cup of coffee again. Sally and Emily were thrilled to see him, it had been quite a while. They were equally thrilled to inform him that Dean and Sam were safe and recovering, and that David Bowman had flown in to help. All three were fast asleep at the moment at the Jezebel. Poor Bobby was nearly unconscious on his feet, and Sally fed him and steered him to their guest room for some much needed rest. Emily decided she's spend some time at her potter's wheel, but Sally was too stir-crazy to turn her mind and hand to creative endeavours. She decided to go for a walk, to see if the cottage occupants were stirring. She wanted to hear the whole story of the recent events.

By the time she'd meandered down to the cottage, the sun was waning. Poking her head in the door, she was greeted by silence, punctuated by snoring of various resonance. She was glad she didn't have to share space with this trio, it sounded like a tractor-pull. She occupied the hanging porch seat, rocking gently for a while. She found herself absent-mindedly humming the song. Paddy joined her. He'd been carrying the limp body of a lizard in his mouth, but he dropped it in favour of some petting.

"Hey Paddy." she said, scratching his lumpy head. "Good kitty, nice catch. Just don't eat in right in front of me, ok?"

He squinted at her and rewarded her with a deep rumbling purr.

"Where's your girlfriend, huh?" He didn't answer, he just flopped onto his side and enjoyed the attention. Sally watched as the sky faded, its tropical hues turning to cool pastels. It was a lovely thing to experience...nothing you could ever transfer to canvas, might as well paint on black velvet and add an Elvis.

"That is one ugly cat."

She was startled out of her reverie. Dean joined her, sitting down on the porch steps. He scratched Paddy on the shoulders.

Sally smiled. "He's not ugly, he's experienced." She offered him a smoke, which he declined. "How you feeling…?"

"Better." he said, adding, "Those'll kill ya, you know.."

She snorted. "So will demons."

He laughed wryly. "Yeah, guess so."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while.

"Have you talked to Sam yet?" she asked.

He shook his head. Sam was still out cold, recharging after his fearful experience. And David was still recovering from trying to keep up with Dean earlier.

"Mmm, I forgot to tell you, Bobby's here. He's crashed for a while. He was really glad to hear you two were safe."

"He's a good guy, you cousin. Shit, he must have booted it to get here so fast. Too bad he had to do that, but with what he knows, I could sure use him when we go back out there to smoke that freaky thing."

She was instantly nervous. "You have to do that…?"

He sighed. "I don't know what it is exactly, but I know it's bad. Can't risk it hurting somebody else. It's trapped, for now. But it needs to be dead or gone." He drained his Corona and flicked the lime slice onto the grass. "I'm still waiting to hear everything that happened with Sam. This whole thing was a new one for us. It sure changes your whole concept of safety or security." A fleeting bitterness crossed his features. But he replaced it with his winning smile, and deftly changed the subject. "So...the painting thing... Sorry, Sam's the educated, sensitive one, he explains it all to me. Just how good are you?"

She wasn't offended by his direct probing. It was refreshing, actually. "High six figures yearly good, if you want to define it that way."

He whistled. "Man, I'm in the wrong business."

She laughed. "Business? Do you ever get paid for saving humanity? You forget, I'm related to Bobby. That van he lent you was the most decent-looking, up-to-date vehicle I've ever associated with him, he must really like you two. You know, I'm glad people like you do this, but I sure don't know _why_ you do it…"

"C'mon, Sally...you don't paint for money. You just paint. It just happens to have the added bonus…"

She couldn't argue with that. There had been enough lean years where everyone told her to abandon her calling and get a real job. "Ok, but painting might drive me nuts, Dean. But it'll never kill me."

He had no answer to that.

By ten pm, everyone was u.p The internal clocks of most of them were hopelessly screwed up by the past events. Bourbon, beer and wine flowed freely to compensate. Sally and Emily were present for Sam's recounting of his experiences, as were Bobby and David. And Dean, who was adamantly opposed to Sam revealing his connection with the yellow-eyed demon. But ultimately he had to have faith that they were among good people, among friends. They were all duly shocked quiet by his recollections. Emily and Sally were frightened enough by the existence of the creature that tormented Sam, but the idea that it was merely a minion of something worse, was a shock to them. The existence of this Demon and it's mysterious plan was something that shook their world, it was too much for people who had carefully shielded themselves here in this beautiful place, choosing to disregard the uglier side of life. And the latest activity of the demon was a jolt for those others who knew of its existence. It was a wake-up call for those involved and it told them that this wasn't going away.

Emily was silent for the most part. She didn't want to panic anyone by the palette of colour that surged through her mind. And she didn't want to touch anyone, —it was all too strong, too raw. Instead, she calmed her fears by numbing them with a good Chianti. She found Sally's hand and held it.

"Christ, Sam…" David said. He didn't know what to add to that.

Bobby rubbed his bearded chin and whistled. "Well, Sam, you can be proud that you bested the bastard this time. Sounds like it threw its best curve ball at you, and you smacked it right back at him. Must have been hell for you.."

"Yeah." Sam said quietly. "It was."

Dean was tired of discussing it, he needed to have a plan to deal with it or he'd never be able sleep. "What do you think, Bobby? A dawn flight out to send it to hell? I don't know how long that trap will hold, if we get any hard weather it'll wash away and we'd be screwed."

Bobby agreed. "Yeah, as soon as we can, I guess. The question is; what incantations do we use here? This thing doesn't really fit any categories exactly. I mean, it may be sort of spirit, it seems to have been an evil human being to begin with. But it's very demonic in how it operates. Not your standard black-eyed demon either, another damned yellow-eyed thing. What that means, I dunno. But the trap worked, so did salt. My guess is a demon banishment passage, but if there's anything physical left after, we salt and burn. Agreed?"

Dean and Sam nodded. But that being said, the logistics of getting back out there were difficult. The Winchesters were as near as destitute as they cared to be, and Bobby lived a very modest existence himself. No one wanted to ask the obvious favour of Sally again. But they didn't have to.

"I'll get another chopper booked. And don't bloody talk to me about money, either. Bobby knows I have enough. More than I'll ever need, am I clear enough?" All the men mumbled grateful thanks, which she deflected with irritation. "Now here's another question; Dean—do we contact our first pilot, who has seen a bit of this so far and seems to be willing to have paid amnesia, or do we hire someone new?"

Dean thought about that for a moment. He wasn't a fan of the man, he had tried to abandon them several times during the rescue foray. But she was right, he had seen something of the nature of their work already and it would be dangerous to expose their activities to yet another witness. "I guess we should see if we can convince the first guy to take it on. At least he's sort of in the loop…"

"I agree. I'm going in to see if I can get a hold of him. Might be too late tonight though." Sally got up to leave. "Coming, Emmy?"

Emily nodded and rose. She paused, her face showing her worry. "Look boys...I have to tell you, my mind is just burning with colour. There's something so bad about all of this.." Her voice broke slightly but she got a grip. "Just, please...be so careful...so careful."

They promised. "Need a hug, Em?" Bobby asked gently.

"Oh god yeah, Bobby, but please don't—you'll send me right over the edge if you do." she sniffed valiantly. "Night boys, god speed, good luck, break a leg. And make sure the same number of you comes back, ok?" And finding Sally's arm, they left for the studio.

"Those two are so great." Sam said.

Bobby smiled. "Yeah, they're a couple of solid old broads. Now, one more detail—we've gotta tow the van out before anyone notices and reports it. We can do that right after we deal with the other problem. You probably want to get your shit out of it, and there's still salvage in the carcass. I brought down another set of wheels for you boys. Not as nice as that van, but it'll get you there. Gotta promise to stay on the road this time though. " He was teasing them with the last bit but the brothers squirmed uncomfortably.

Dean addressed it. "Man...we are so sorry about the van, Bobby. It was a really good ride, wish you'd given us something crappier…"

Bobby shrugged and smiled. "Shit happens, boys, especially in this business. Don't sweat it…" He yawned and stretched. "I gotta turn in...want to see the new wheels?"

Dean really didn't, but he went for Bobby's sake. Sam begged off, he was still hurting and needed to sleep. As they walked along the path, Bobby questioned Dean about their injuries.

Dean told him. "Sam's got a lot of cuts and tears...that thing really shredded him. David sewed him up. He was pretty weak from blood loss but he got some from me to compensate."

"What about you?"

"I'm ok."

"Sure, that's why you have bandaids all over your face and only one arm, you stupid ass! Now answer my question!"

"Ok, fine!—Broken collarbone, cracked melon, bruised everything. But I'm still walking, alright? And I can still shoot, or whatever. So I'm going tomorrow, if that's what you're getting at!"

"Relax, I'm just checking. I need you there. But maybe Sam should stay back, there's nothing he needs to do there."

Dean was in full agreement. They'd probably have to tie Sam to a chair, but that's the way it was gonna be. They approached the tarped vehicle on the back of the ramp truck.

"Go ahead, have a peek." Bobby invited.

Dean hid his lack of enthusiasm and lifted the canvas. Gleaming black paint reflected the moonlight. Polished chrome shone. The Impala.

"Oh man, my car!" Dean whipped off the tarp and stroked his hands along her classic lines. He broke out of his reverie long enough to thank him. "Jesus, Bobby!" he said, eyes shining. "Man,..I—"

"You're not gonna kiss me are ya?" Bobby teased.

"I dunno, I just might! It's a toss-up between you and her!"

Bobby laughed. "Well make it her then. Oh, and she comes equipped with new plates and a new old VIN number—all legit and official, so as long as you don't do anything stupid, you should be alright."

"Thanks, Bobby, seriously."

"Yeah, yeah. Go to bed, Dean, she'll still be here in the morning." He tossed him the keys and headed in.

Dean took a last long look,, and turned to head back to Jezebel.


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

Dean was up at six, too antsy to relax. He had been listening to the weather worsen for the past several hours and he was beginning to panic that they would lose the trap. He wasn't sure yet if he'd be relieved in that case, with that thing gone, they wouldn't have to deal with it at the moment. He didn't feel entirely up to the task. But it was already strangely connected to Sam, and now to him as well…he shuddered at the memory of it breathing his name and reaching for him. If it did get free, he wondered if it would be content to stay where it lived, or would it seek out its human prize…?

All moot of course, if they could get out there in time. He grabbed some dry Froot Loops and filled his jacket pocket. since they were out of M&Ms. He sure wanted a coffee, and he stepped outside to see if the lights were on up the path. They were. -_Good_— He flipped the keys to the Impala over and over in his hand, absentmindedly. If he'd been paying attention, he would have noticed the brown cat streaking like a bat out of hell toward the studio. But he had his head down, and he followed the sodden path as the wind buffeted. By the time he reached the door, his jacket was dripping.

The cousins were up at the studio. Sally took his coat and shook it out before hanging it up in the bathroom. She returned with a steaming mug, handing it to Dean with a tense smile.

"Thanks." he said, accepting it gratefully. He saw Emily come in and join them. "Morning Emily, is Bobby up yet?"

She looked toward him, smiled slightly and nodded. "Just washing up, Dean. He'll be out shortly."

He noticed her rigid posture. "How are you ?...hanging in there?"

Emily sighed. "Ask me this evening, dear. Frankly I'm scared shitless at the moment…"

"Hmm. Ditto." he agreed.

Sally came in with toast and the ever-present array of fruit. "I called our pilot last night, no answer and no machine, - the idiot. I'll try him again in a few minutes. If we can't get him we'll have to call someone else, I guess…"

Bobby came in, puffy-eyed, damp hair sticking out comically.

"Hello, beautiful." Sally greeted, handing him his own mug.

"Not a morning guy, Bobby..?" Dean pestered.

"It ain't morning yet…" he grumbled. "Any word on the chopper?"

"Not yet, no answer. I'll go try him again." Sally said.

Bobby glanced with worry at Dean. "Weather's rough. Think that trap held?"

Dean shrugged. "Hope so. Gotta go out there anyway, but we need to be prepared that it could be loose and pissed, or possibly just gone. If we're lucky we can smoke it before the weather really gets bad. There's supposed to be gale force winds later—I'm not sure how much the cypress swamp gets affected by the coast weather. Got everything together?"

Bobby nodded. "You?"

Dean nodded. " It's all still at the cottage, but gathered. I still have to break it Sam that he doesn't get to play with us today…Maybe I can get David to tranquilize him." he snorted.

Sally returned, having successfully reached their reluctant pilot. "Bugger's getting expensive, but I convinced him to come out. He'll be here in under an hour, he said he still has to do his checks and fuel." She sat down, and picked up a piece of toast, with no intention of eating it. Instead she pulled out a cigarette, asking, but not caring, if anyone minded. No one dared object. The windows were buffeted by a particularly nasty gust, and a flash of bluish light accompanied it. Low rumbling could be heard above the wind. Dean announced he'd better get to the cottage and collect his gear. He threw his coat on and jogged back down the path.

Sam and David were now up as well, hardly able to sleep through the sudden turn in the weather. Dean lurched into the room, dripping, and uttering a curse. "Getting pretty crappy out there. The chopper's gonna be here any minute. Sam, I hate to break it to you, but it's just gonna be Bobby and me. —No. hear me out! There's nothing for you to do, we have it covered, and you already had your run in with that freak. You're still weak from that."

"_I'm_ weak?" Sam retorted angrily. "You don't even have two useful hands, for shits sake! I'm going!"

"No you're not!" Dean barked. "And it's not my idea, it's Bobby's. This is how he wants to do this, and we owe him that much to go along with it, alright?"

Sam growled his frustration and stomped out to the porch. Dean sighed. "David, do what you can to convince him, will you? I don't have the time to argue. I gotta go."

"Good luck out there, Dean…We'll keep the cousins occupied, so they don't worry.. Stay in touch….please."

Dean nodded and picked up his gear, heading out. He met a glowering Sam on the steps. "Sorry Sammy. Next time. Look, it's important to keep those old girls calm. They're freaking out, and they'll feel a lot safer if you're there with them. Sally has coffee and breakfast up there, wanna come?"

Sam agreed, reluctantly. He stepped in to get his coat and invite David, who declined in favour of a shower. The poor doc was just too damned tense to be sociable. Dean and Sam ducked their faces into their collars and headed up the path to the studio, where they were welcomed in again.

"Oh, Sam—I'm so glad you've chosen to stay with Em and me, especially with this lousy weather. Don't get me wrong, I can handle just about anything thrown at me, but this demon stuff...well… it just gives me the willies!" Sally said, squeezing his arm and smiling wanly. _She really does look scared_, he thought. If he was to be banned from the demon-squelching, at least he could take solace in knowing his presence was a comfort for these two. He let them know David would join them shortly.

Bobby entered again, carrying his pack. He nodded to Sam. "You ok with staying with my cousins? Believe me, it's not busywork, it's important to them...and me, Sam."

"Whatever you want Bobby."

Bobby patted his shoulder, relieved that he wasn't resentful. Sam wished people would quit squeezing and patting him, his stitches were stinging like mad. Dean and Bobby were all set to leave, all that remained was the wait for their flight. Dean paced in nervous discomfort. They weren't sure if the chopper was even able to handle the inclement weather, but since no one had called them to cancel, the assumption was that they were still on.

They didn't feel or hear the approach so much as see it this time. The chopper neared, and carefully made its attempt to land again on the grassy lawn. Bobby and Dean readied to sprint towards it, but suddenly they were thwarted by an wildly frantic animal.

It was brown cat—

She advanced on them, growling, pupils round and flashing, and preventing them from moving forward. Bobby hadn't yet encountered her, he was sure the cat was rabid, he'd never seen a reaction like this.

"What the hell is wrong with it?" he yelled over the rain and rotor.

Dean was bewildered and afraid. This creature had been a boon before, but it now seemed to be aggressively in favour of the demon.

As the chopper pilot made his attempt to drop, Dean tried to keep the cat at bay, but it was adamant. It fought him, screaming, there was no way it was going to let them get near the craft. As Dean tried to derail it, Bobby turned his eyes to the cockpit. He was sure there was something odd happening. The pilot, a solitary figure moments earlier, was suddenly joined by another figure, and it looked like they were wrestling, struggling. The glass was becoming obscured, a red film was spattering over it, covering it on the inside.

Emily was still standing in the dry safety behind the screen door. She suddenly screamed and threw her hands to her head. Sally grabbed her and they retreated inside.

And then the unthinkable happened. The chopper was clearly in trouble when the tail rotor blew, with a flash and burst of smoke, and the craft, now rudderless—immediately began to spin wildly. Dean and Bobby ran back to the studio door where Sam stood,- horror-struck. They were screaming at everyone to get inside as the aircraft careened drunkenly, hopelessly out of control. It veered toward the bay, pitched, and plummeted like a stricken bird into the roiling, grey waves It struck the water with a blast of mist generated by the blades, and was instantly engulfed in an explosion of flame and greasy black smoke as the volatile jet fuel ignited. What little remained sank quickly into the white-capped water, leaving only an acrid burning stench and some bits of debris as a reminder that it ever existed at all. The group at the studio stood in stunned silence for mere seconds, until Dean was struck by the horror. The thing was free—and it had taken down the chopper. It wasn't loose in the swamp out there, it was here!

David had seen and heard the tragic crash, and he ran out of the cottage, filled with shocked disbelief.

"No! David, get back inside!" Dean screamed over the wind. David didn't understand, but the brown cat turned her attention to him and chased him back into the Jezebel. He backed into the cottage and slammed the door, bewildered and fearful, while Dean and the others barricaded themselves in the studio.

Emily was weeping, near hysteria. Sally tried to console her, if for no other reason other than to calm herself as well. Dean was pacing, his expression thunderous. The words _we're screwed_ repeated in his mind until he had to physically shake the phrase off. Bobby and Sam stood by, in silence.

"Well, now what? " Dean demanded. "C'mon, Bobby, Sam—we need to think here, now!"

Sam spoke. "Dean, that thing can turn up wherever it wants! We're not safe in here anymore than out there!"

"Then pick a room and salt the openings! Sam, take Sal and Em, do it!"

Sam nodded and hurried the women to a first floor bathroom, a room with the least amount of vulnerable glass. He grabbed a box of salt from the kitchen on the way. He spoke gently and calmly while he poured the salt lines, and assured them it would be alright, and warned them to keep the doors and window secured.

Emily clutched his sleeve, begging tearfully, "Sam, don't go out there! Oh please, _please_—its too strong! Don't!"

But he pulled free and sat her down. "It'll be ok, I promise. I have to go!" He left them and returned to the other two men.

Bobby was poring over his notes and books, trying to find the best way to deal with the unexpected and unwelcome twist. They already knew the demon trap worked, but there was a good chance the thing had learned from its last experience, and would not be so easily tricked again. Due to Sam's encounter, they knew it was driven by a blood-lust that was nearly insatiable and the predictability of it worked in their favour. But also put them in grave peril. They had to trap it, but the question remained of how. The when would be determined the moment it showed itself. So far, it had not yet seen fit to do so.

"It's aware of a possible trap on the ground now, maybe we should draw it on the ceiling.." Sam suggested.

"Yeah, don't see any other way. I'll get on it. What do you think, here in the entanceway?" Bobby asked.

Dean nodded. Bobby grabbed a chair and a fat black marker. He carefully drew his shapes and symbols and added a few more appropriate phrases. It was second nature to him,he had it drawn in minutes, stepping down again and rubbing his aching neck. "There's one done. How bout a few more around here to be safe?"

They agreed, putting the image on anything above that was reachable. Much of the studio was glass cathedral ceiling, they couldn't hope to reach those high glazed panels without a tall ladder.

"Now what?" Dean asked.

"Guess we wait."

Dean called David on his cell and brought him up to speed. "SALT, David...salt every entrance in an unbroken line. Understand-?"

David indicated he would.

"Good. Now just stay there, no matter what. That demon-child thing is out there, and we don't know what it's up to, so don't leave… And David?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you see some words—some song, written, well pretty much everywhere in there?"

David looked and saw the embroidered verses. He recognized the old hymn… "Yeas, I see it."

"Well sing it. Hum it, say it out loud—whatever you want, but just do it, ok? It was her song, Ada—the one who haunts the cottage. She'll help you if she can, but you have to let her know you want her to!"

David was bewildered by the advice. "Yeah—ok, I will."

"Good. Keep the phone near, alright? We'll need to- _JESUS_!"

David heard shouting, screams, and the piercing sounds of glass breaking. "Dean? Dean, answer me! DEAN!"

The glazed walls were blowing inward with a fury and violence that exceeded the power of the storm, all three men were showered with razor sharp shrapnel from the heavy glass panels. Dean was blown against the wall with such force that it dropped him, unconscious, in a heap at the floor. His cell went skidding across the terra-cotta tiles. Sam and Bobby managed to take cover behind furniture, avoiding the brunt of the debris and force. Bobby was searching frantically for his leather bound book, it was pulled from his grasp in the melee. Sam called Dean's name frantically, scanning through the howling wind and rain that instantly filled the building. He saw where he lay, but the child-thing had suddenly materialized between them.

The hideous eyes fluoresced a golden light, the ugly rictus was in place. It turned its attention to the fallen figure. "Dean…..Dean…." it whispered, reaching toward him…

"NO!" Sam yelled. He searched frantically for something, anything—and finding one of Emily's large bowls, he threw it at the creature, striking it a glancing blow on its shoulder. It was enough, the thing turned around in a fury, it's prize momentarily forgotten, and it focused its attention on its attacker. As the creature was poised to fly at Sam, Bobby leapt forward and splattered it liberally with holy water from his recovered flask. It had the desired effect, the demon-child wailed and tore at the searing liquid soaking its face and torso, and it dropped, writhing, and vanished.

Stunned for a moment, Sam recovered his wits and ran to his fallen brother. Dean was struggling to regain his clarity and to get back up off the glass-strewn floor. He cursed as sharp slivers bit into his palms and knees, and Sam helped him, throwing Dean's un-bound arm over his shoulders and hauling him to his feet.

Dean rubbed the back of his head with a grimace. "What the hell happened ?"

"It's here." Sam answered tensely. "It blew in the glass and threw you against the wall. Bobby burned it with holy water and it disappeared, for now anyway."

Dean groaned and clutched his shoulder. The rough ride had jolted his fracture, but he pressed it gingerly, and was relieved that it still felt right despite the ache. Bobby was searching frantically for his book, and he barked at the two of them to help. Without it, and its complex incantations, they had no defense against the thing when it returned. The wind and rain were pelting into the studio, but the force that shattered the glass had died down. Water flooded in across the tiles. All three sifted through the glass shards and overturned objects until the book was located. Bobby snapped it up, drying it with his shirt, and he immediately resumed his search through its pages. Voices caught their attention. Emily and Sally were anxiously calling to them.

"Better check on the cousins, Sam." Dean said. Sam nodded and hurried to the room where they were cloistered.

"Is everyone ok? Sally demanded, as she stared at her ruined sanctuary in horror.

They assured her that they were. Bobby stopped long enough to embrace a terrified and weeping Emily while Sally checked Dean over as he sat hunched on a chair.

"Would you stop it?—I'm fine!" he growled. Judging by his surly tone and level of tension, she accepted that he probably was.

"Is it gone for good now? What do we do now?" she asked.

Dean answered. "I think we need to get the hell outa here and find a safer place. It may be gone for the moment but we all know that creepy little sonofabitch will be back, maybe any minute!"

Emily whimpered. Bobby had released her and was again poring over the notations. "Boys, look here—I think I found something that fits!"

Sam looked over his shoulder and read the passage. "Sounds like it will work. The description seems to be what we have here… But we still need to trap it."

Dean was getting up slowly to see. But before he could, the brown cat materialized beside him. He tensed with fear, drawing his hand up to protect his eyes as he remembered his last aggressive encounter with her. But she leaped onto his lap, and he could see she was carrying something. She dropped it onto his leg and yowled at him. He picked it up —_keys_— He recognized them they were the keys to Jezebel. Her message didn't need interpretation, and she immediately left him, stopping by the shattered garden doors, yowling again.

"We have to get to the cottage!" he said.

The others looked at him questioningly. He held up the set. "The cat—she just dropped the keys here! She's telling us its safer back there. Look at her!" He pointed to where she was standing—-she was still mewing, obviously poised to head out into the yard. Sam didn't need convincing, he knew that the animal had been sent before to help them.

"He's right. It's Ada, she may have some way of protecting the cottage. We need to get out of here anyway."

Without delay, they fled the studio, slipping down the sodden path, shielding their faces from the storm. In minutes they were at the door, pounding on it and shouting for David to open it. Dean tried the key, but David had dead-bolted it from the inside. David scrambled to slide the latch back, and they tumbled in, slamming the door and locking it behind them. The poor doc was speechless with relief. The last thing he'd heard was the mayhem up at the house, then nothing more. He'd tried to call Dean's cell time and time again, but it remained busy, and he was too terrified to leave the cottage to check.

Sam brought towels to everyone and put the kettle on while Dean filled David in on the developments. They sat around the livingroom, urgently discussing their options.

"Bobby may have the words to get rid of this thing for good, but we still need to pin it down long enough so he can say them….We need to trap it again. But it's getting smarter—" Dean frowned.

"Blood." Sam said.

"Yeah, and?" Dean was critically short on patience.

"It's what we need to lure it. You should have seen that thing when it was licking mine off its hands! It was thinking of nothing else. Believe me, it is incapable of resisting that temptation. If we could get some from each of us...David, you have the supplies to do that?" David nodded. "Then we could get enough to use some to leave a trail to a container, a bowl or something—filled with the rest. Above that spot, Bobby will have drawn a trap."

"What do we do, just invite the damn thing in?" Dean argued. "We're only guessing that this cottage is a safe zone! And if it is, do you think we should compromise that already? We'd be screwed if this didn't work!"

"We're screwed anyway." Bobby mused. "We can't wait in here forever, even if Ada's protection lasts against that thing. I think we should try this."

Everyone agreed, even Emily—who was so crippled by the flashing colours of impending danger that she just wanted to see it end.

"Ok, fine. Let's get to it." said Dean, grimly.

Bobby immediately set out to draw the lines and symbols on the ceiling. Sam pulled a kitchen chair over for him to stand on. David got his kit and prepared five syringes. Sally offered her arm first, it was a matter of pride. Dean was next, fighting his queasiness at yet another needle. Emily then volunteered. Then Bobby. David took his own last.

"Don't you need mine?" Sam asked.

"You're still rebuilding your stocks there, if I take any you may get light-headed, and I'd really rather have you thinking quickly and clearly." David replied. "I think we have a good quantity here anyway. Could you get me a bowl or something, Sam?"

Emily was singing the song softly to herself. David looked at her and said, "I was just singing that about a half hour ago…it's a sweet old tune." Dean caught that and smiled to himself. It was the same time the brown cat showed up with the keys…

Bobby stepped down from his chair and pushed it out of the way. "Ok boys, it's done." David handed him the bowl of their combined blood donations, and he placed it in the center of the floor beneath the trap.

Suddenly a frenzy of clawing, and scrabbling and howling caught their attention. The child-demon—it was at the door.

Dean motioned to Sam to take the cousins into a bedroom. Sam did so quickly, salting the openings just in case.

"Sing for Ada." Emily whispered.. "I know it helps her keep her protection strong." He nodded tensely, and left them.

Bobby had ladled out a trail of still warmish blood from the bowl to the entrance. The violence against the cottage door was increasing—the thing was becoming furious as it realized it could not gain entry. Dean sent David in with the cousins.

"Just keep them calm, ok? No matter what you hear.."

The remaining trio stood behind the door, ready to spring. Dean silently grasped the door knob, looked to the others for the sign. He got it, and as they held their breath, he opened the door to the porch. Wind and rain lashed in immediately, instantly flowing onto and diluting the first section of the blood trail.

But it didn't matter. They watched silently as the door was forced wider and a dirty white hand snaked in, smeared its fingers into the line of red, and retreated. They couldn't hear the smacking noises over the wind.

The lust for the warm blood overcame the thing's suspicion. It's defensive posture fell away, and it dropped onto its hands and knees, following the trail of blood, gleefully sliding its palms over the red and sucking it off its skin. In a few moments it reached the prize, the bowl—directly under the trap. The men watched as it sat on its haunches, dipped its white little hands in the blood ecstatically, almost reverently, and smearing it over its face. Finally it could resist no longer, and it greedily consumed the contents until the bowl, licking it until it was empty.

Bobby held the book open, ready, and the three stepped out and took places around the perimeter of the trap. Sam hummed Ada's hymn softly. The die was cast…


	7. Chapter 7

PART 7

The demon child looked up from its rapture as they circled it. For a moment, it thought it had just been presented with three new gifts, but when it reached out toward them, it found itself blocked. Realization dawned on it then, as it had in the swamp before, that it was unable to move outside of this small, invisibly walled place. It was again trapped. Sam closed the door, shutting out the din of the storm, and Bobby commenced with his oration.

The thing was still for a moment, confused. It saw no pattern on the floor that defined its prison, and it tried repeatedly to reach toward the men that ringed it. But each time, it's translucent white hands were thwarted in finding their target as if it were in a glass cage. A deep, low sound began to build in its throat. It rose to a keening howl that threatened to deafen the hunters as Bobby continued his words in a firm, clear voice. It flew into a rage. It screamed and clawed at the empty air, tried to cover its ears as the words cut through it like razors. The hunters , to a man, all retreated a little, as the violence of the demon-child's resistance mounted. It whirled in a frothing frenzy of hate and anger as Bobby's words made their mark. Dean and Sam exchanged anxious looks, nervous that it would break free. They'd seen a number of demons expunged from their hosts, and it was never pleasant, but the spectacle rarely had the intensity that this one exhibited.

Bobby's voice rose again to be heard over the screams and wails, as the thing threw itself at its invisible prison walls without success.

Suddenly it went quiet. The creature sat down in the center, drew its knees up to its chest and hugged its tiny arms around himself. It dropped its head, hiding its face behind its curtain of lank, wet hair. Bizarrely, it began to weep. It was a piteous sound, a lost, mournful sobbing. With its hideous face hidden, and its violence abandoned, it became nothing more to see than a pathetic, thin little boy. Bobby, already seasoned and jaded, remained unmoved, and he continued his chant. After what he'd been through at its hands, Sam was also immune to the pathos now of this creature in front of him.

But it was a calculated emotional performance, tailored to affect one man specifically. Dean stared at the boy, who huddled, crying and shivering on the floor. The trick, a clever lure—oddly affected him, as it had done briefly when he found it weeping in the cypress swamp. He was suddenly struck by the sadness and frailty of this little figure, as if it reached into his soul somehow, beseeching him to help it. It read like a little brother begging the love and protection of an older sibling. It was a calculated spell, and it worked. Dean slowly dropped to a crouch, watching this small child, mesmerized. The need to offer comfort overwhelmed him, and incapable of resisting its emotional pull, he gently reached toward it.

Bobby stopped reading for a second, confused. Sam looked to him, then turned to Dean..

"Dean—NO!" he yelled in horror. He threw himself at his brother, but it was too late. Dean's hand had passed the protection line of the image drawn above, and the demon had grasped it with both of its own. Dean had a second of terrified realization, the spell broken, but he was already being hauled into the centre of the trap. The thing set upon him immediately like a starving dog. With his arm still bound to his side, Dean didn't have a chance. He pried helplessly at the ragged filthy claws that dug into his throat as a strangled scream escaped him.

Sam hung onto his waist, his shirt, anything he could grip; desperately trying to keep him from being pulled completely into the trap, but the cursed thing was so strong-

"Bobby, don't stop! Keep reading!" he yelled. The older man immediately found his place and continued his chant.

Dean pulled the hands away as the thing bit deeply into his fore arm. He shook it loose and elbowed it in the face, but nothing seemed to slow it down and it grabbed hold of his throat again as Sam hung onto him, pulling with every fibre of his being. Sam made little headway while Dean began to choke, strangling under the grip of those powerful little white hands as the nails tore into his skin. He raised his good arm to ward it off. It bit his wrist again as he weakened, and he felt his grasp on his world abandon him. He began to black out.

Sam was groaning under the strain of keeping him back, and he saw that Dean was failing. He was about to leap into the circle himself, but before he could do so, a streak of brown flew past him and into the trap.

The brown cat launched herself at the child-demon's face, screaming and clawing. It surprised the thing, and it momentarily released its grip on Dean's throat. Sam pulled hard in that split second, hauling Dean's limp body to safety outside the circle. The brown cat fled before the thing could grab it.

Bobby was frozen, wild eyed at the unfolding events, but after a second or two he steadfastly returned to his reading of the passage, as Sam dragged Dean further away from the demon's grasp and influence. Sam yelled to David to help him, and the doc emerged from the safe room haltingly, profoundly terrified, but ready to help.

But seeing his stricken friend, he immediately became Dr. Bowman, pushing the younger hunter out of the way as he set about tending Dean's wounds. Sam returned to Bobby, if for nothing else than to witness the demise of the damned thing. It was wailing again, but its struggles were growing weaker as Bobby's words progressed. It tried to flee, but weakness dropped it to its hands and knees. It began to shake and twitch, and moaning replaced the howls. Bobby kept on, and it fell over, convulsing. As Bobby neared the end of his passage, the twitching stopped. A black poisonous effluent bubbled from its mouth, seeping down between the floorboards as if pulled there by some unseen force, and it began to shrivel grotesquely..

And at last the final words condemning it back to Hell were uttered, and all that remained was the ancient and ruined body of an eight year old boy, a child apparently born evil, and one, that when all else failed, was deliberately drowned in the swamp by priests nearly a century before. The whole damned thing was horrible, but now at last, whatever it was, it was finally rendered harmless. Bobby closed his book and gingerly prodded the remains with the toe of his shoe. Nothing happened. "I think we're good…" he ventured.

Sam turned away and hovered anxiously near David as he worked over Dean, who lay deathly still as David staunched the bleeding at his throat and arm.

"I need you to help me carry him in to a bed, I can't stitch him properly here."

Sam nodded and bundled his brother into his arms, following David and gently depositing him on the bed. David set about his work. "Nothing lethal, Sam, don't worry. Just nasty.." he assured him.

Sam breathed out his relief, and turned his head at Bobby's call. He returned to the place where the body lay, staring at it with a look of disgust and revulsion. "That's a new one." he grimaced.

Bobby agreed. "Let's finish this, Sam. We need to salt it and burn it, to be safe. Everything is soaking wet outside, only thing we can do is burn it here in the fireplace. Kinda gross, but what can you do.. How's Dean, is he ok?"

Sam nodded. "I hope so...David thinks so. Just some nasty tears, which he's stitching. He's still out of it. Bobby, his reaching out to that demon...I've never seen anything like that…"

Bobby knew the root of of though. "Mmm…. Some power it had, a way to get someone to feel sympathy for it, I guess. Just seemed to work with Dean, like it struck some chord…I dunno. But let's get this done now."

Sam found a thin blanket and he wrapped the shrunken remains in it and placed them on the grate in the hearth. Bobby salted the bundle liberally, then dowsed it all with kerosene until it was saturated.

"Do the honours, Sam.."

Sam struck a match and tossed it. The bundle lit up and was immediately engulfed in flame. It crackled and spit for a little while. Sam left to reassure the cousins as Bobby stayed watching until the fire died down to ashes. The women joined him, watching, wrinkling their noses at the stench. Bobby was glad they hadn't seen the remains, or indeed, any of the process. It would have been something too horrible to forget for people unaccustomed to such things.

Sally broke the silence."So..that's it, then?"

"That's it. It will never return."

Emily broke down, this time in sheer relief. "Thank-you Bobby…you're our brilliant saint! I thought I would go mad when that thing was in our midst. But it's all calm now, no more colours…" she said tearfully. Sally hugged her, and wept quietly herself.

The weather was calming. The palms still danced, but not with the ground-whipping ferocity that they had displayed earlier. They turned at an angry voice.

"Quit stabbing me, you hack!"

Sam knew Dean was conscious, he could hear his bitching from the bedroom. He and Sally joined David as Bobby sat with Emily. Poor David was trying to do what was best for Dean, his ragged wounds needed to be cleaned and closed. It was a lot easier when the elder Winchester was unconscious, and David was tempted to give him a shot of tranquilizer, or hit him upside his head with a rock.

"Dean! Relax and let him finish, you wuss!" Sam admonished.

Dean glared at him but tempered his response to fit the company. David continued his needlework, steady-handed and seemingly oblivious to Dean's vocal resistance. He'd already done his repairs to his neck; twenty seven stitches total. He was completing the closing of his arm wounds.

Dean was anxious to know the outcome. "What happened? Is it done?"

Sam nodded. "Banished, salted, and burned. I think we can safely call it finished."

The elder hunter closed his eyes in relief.

Sam had to ask. "Dean...you reached over to touch it, do you remember?"

Dean sighed. _Oh yeah—he remembered_. "Yeah, Sam. It happened when it started crying... It, I dunno...it hit me, how lonely and how small and ...sad, it was. I know it was just doing it to me, playing with my head, but… Shit, it was like it was _you._ When you were little and Dad was gone for days, you were so sad and lonely...so lost. You needed me to make it ok. Well, that kid, or whatever it was, seemed to ask me for the same thing. And I knew it was screwed up, but I...I just had to help it.. Sonofabitch! I actually felt, for a minute there, that it was a _victim!_"

Sam didn't know how to respond. He felt an overwhelming and irrational guilt. He changed the subject. "Well, the passage from the book worked...looks like it was sent back. And it did leave some remains, really weird. But like I said, we salted and burned them. I think it's gone for good." Sam wanted to ask if he was hurting, if he was alright. But he knew better. That was info to be gleaned from others, like David. Dean would never give him a straight answer. But stitches Sam knew, and Dean was his usual uncompromising self. This _would_ be ok.

Sally located that bottle and poured everyone a stiff drink. "Here's to….Christ, anything but the last few days!"

There was a hearty round of cheers to that.

Needless to say, they vacuumed out the hearth with meticulous care. David, having played his new role with honours, had to return home. He had teaching obligations and a very demanding girlfriend. Bobby stayed a few days. He loved the warmth, the vibrant life all around him here. Back home, it was in the throes of waning Autumn, not nearly as hospitable as the Keys at this time of year. He helped do repairs to the studio, cleaning and helping with the glazing repairs. But he did have a business, and a life, elsewhere. He had to return eventually. Dean fretted about Bobby's burden of cost to come down. It was solely to rescue them, and Dean knew that Bobby was out of pocket quite a sum for gas alone. Yet he had no bloody way to repay him for his selflessness, and it ate at him.

Dean had worked out an arrangement with the cousins. He would scrape and repaint the Jezebel in return for free accommodations. He was happy to do it, it was a satisfying labour of love that he jealously guarded. But how to repay Bobby for his selflessness—that was a question that robbed him of sleep.

On the morning of Bobby's scheduled departure, Dean awoke to the brown cat's intense stare. He rubbed his eyes and sat up awkwardly. The cat head-butted him and dropped a small bundle onto his blanket-covered chest. Dean was disgusted, expecting to have to dispose of a mouse or lizard carcass. He grasped the object, and was surprised at its metallic sound. Drawing it closer to his bleary early-morning gaze, he saw that it wasn't some newly dead vermin offering. It appeared to be a dry, crackled old leather pouch. He sat up, groaning. The moldered bit of leather rolled down to his lap, and he picked it up and examined it. It was certainly old. The little draw-stringed purse was barely holding together, and bits of soil and decayed matter fell away from it as he turned it over.

Gold glinted through its ruined stitching. He sat bolt upright, suddenly alert, and fascinated by what lay in his hand. The brown cat had brought some sort of gift alright. It appeared to be some sort of buried hoard, god knows where she, or Ada, had found them. He pried the top open and peered inside.

"Sam!" he called…

Sam reluctantly answered from the other room, preferring at least two or three more hours rest. "_What?_"

"C'mere, you have to check this out!"

Deciding that his tone merited some attention, Sam sleepily entered his brother's room. Dean held up the small sack.

Sam yawned and scratched his tangled hair. "Yeah? So what is it?"

"You're not gonna believe it! The cat brought it to me! Check it out! Pirate coins!"

Sam was startled awake by that. Dean shook out the pouch and examined its contents. They were coins alright, and apparently gold. They bore the cross of Spain... "Holy shit, Dean! These are really old!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean nodded. "The damned cat, she just came in and dropped them on me!"

Sam was mesmerized by the seven glinting coins that tumbled out of the decaying leather. "_Really_ old...from the fifteen hundreds. These are _-wow- _probably worth a fortune!"

Dean picked one up, staring at it, turning it over and over. He did what they always did in movies, he bit it. It dented slightly where his teeth pressed. And it tasted like mouldy dirt. He spat onto the floor in disgust, but beamed at Sam. "Feels like the real deal, you think they're really valuable?"

Sam shrugged. "Gotta be. Just in the gold weight alone. Add the age and rarity to it, and who knows. But I know a quick way to find out!"

He was on Ebay in short order. He quickly ascertained that the coins were indeed Spanish, and were 1 and 2 Escudo cobs, the typical Spanish doubloons that legend associated with privateer burials. There was no proof that they were really pirate gold, but it was irrelevant. Florida had a long history of Spanish association. Sam learned that each coin, in good condition, was worth a minimum of $1500. And there were seven of them, no less.

"Dean...this is like, more than ten grand right now!"

Dean shook his head. He struggled to realize the significance. Bobby could be compensated. Hell, even the cousins, if he hadn't already worked it out. And he could buy some new pants. Sam could get a digital camera... Dean wasn't complicated when it came to money. He had no words, he just grinned at his brother.

Several hours later, Bobby had the van loaded on the ramp. It showed the abuse it had suffered, the frame was hopelessly bent, so Bobby was now forced to look at it as a sum of its parts rather than as a reparable project. Mere hours ago, Dean, and Sam would have felt horrible about that as they had no means of compensating their friend for his grumbling selflessness. But Ada's contribution had changed all that.

"Well, boys-I guess I'm off to the cold again…" Bobby said, regretfully.

Both brothers nodded. Dean spoke for the two of them. "Bobby, we can't thank you enough for coming out and saving our asses."

Bobby shrugged with a smile. "I'd expect the same from you two. I'm sure we'll have a chance to even up."

"I expect so." said Dean. "But in the meantime, take these-" He handed Bobby two gold coins.

"Dean, what's this?"

If it were anyone else, Dean would have quickly devised a decent story to cover it, but Bobby was privy to it all. "Ada's cat, she brought these to me this morning. Look, Bobby, I know you spent some serious cash coming down here to help us.. You never hesitated. We knew we could count on you. Just like you know you can count on Sam and me if you ever need anything. Sam went online to check these out, and they're worth fifteen hundred a piece minimum. Take'em. We still have a few more to keep us going. Take it, please…"

Bobby turned the ancient coins over on his hand, examining them with fascination. "Boys, you don't have to do this, you know. I was happy to help."

"I know, man. " Dean said. "But we want to. Shit, I was ready to sell my liver to help with your costs. So now I don't have to."

Bobby laughed, but his eyes were moist. He snorted. "Dean, I've seen you drink. I doubt your liver has much market value left." He embraced Dean, roughly and awkwardly. He did the same to Sam. The cousins had already said their goodbyes, they hung back to allow the men their space. "Well, boys. Think of me while I'm freezing my arse off. And stay outa trouble, for god's sake. Think _vacation_, alright? Do you understand the concept? Don't go looking for complications!"

Dean and Sam agreed, smiling. Bobby climbed up into the cab, and waved one last time. And he put the truck in gear and pulled away.

The rest of their stay was as uneventful as they could manage. For Bobby's sake, for the cousins', and for their own, the brothers endeavoured to live the theme of vacation to its fullest. Sam was browned to a rich mahogany. He understood and embraced the whole beach culture. Dean did his best as well, although his tan was more of a farmer's type. He threw himself into the refurbishing of Jezebel's exterior. At first he did what he could while one-handed. But he abandoned his sling in short order, David would have been furious. He scraped nearly a century of peeling paint off her siding, and at Sally's behest, repainted her a soft tropical blue with contrasting white details. The jezebel looked completely, and happily renewed.

Ada must have approved, she would have shown any concern through the brown cat if she had any issues. As it was, Paddy and brown cat spent lazy days on the porch together, or hunting lizards in the gardens.

Sam spent time at the studio. He wanted to learn how to paint, and Sally was a patient tutor. Dean concentrated on the restoration. He was nearing completion of his task, and he was perched on a ladder, scraping the dormers in the roof. The wavy old glass of the small window was dirty and fly-specked. Dean stopped for a moment, sweat-soaked and working out the cramp in his hand. As he looked over what he'd accomplished, he felt a pang of regret. He'd be done soon. It had been soul-satisfying, the work, the place. The people... They'd be back on the road soon, back to what they called their lives. He sighed and resumed scraping. He rubbed a clear spot in the glass and peered through it while he worked on the mullions.

Something caught his eye. He couldn't quite see what it was, but he was intrigued. He decided to access the attic through the cottage. He got down from the ladder and entered the cool cottage. He found the trap door and lifted it, using a ladder to gain access. The space was stiflingly hot and airless. Little was stored here, a few small boxes, some old blankets. He crawled to where he'd seen the thing that had interested him. It was a small, fur covered thing. He thought at first it was a hat or something, but when he got closer, he saw that it was a carcass. Brownish fur, faded and dusty, it was completely dessicated. He reached out and lifted it gingerly. A loose little blue collar was revealed. And the tag bore a name. _Maeve_.

He knew what it was. He'd found the remains of Brown Cat.

She must have been a pet of a holiday tenant, having somehow made her way into the attic, and becoming trapped and dying there. He carefully replaced the little body, and made his way back down. He could have disposed of her, burned, or buried it, but he didn't. The relationship between Ada and her little friend didn't require his interference. Both seemed happy. He got himself a cold drink, and sought Emily out.

She was at her wheel, working the wet clay so skillfully that it was hard to believe she was blind. He came in and announced himself, so that she wasn't startled.

She smiled at his voice, and switched the wheel off. "Hello, sweetheart. Are you enjoying yourself? You're not working too hard, I hope!"

He smiled. "No, I'm good." He sat down near her, and sipped at his cold drink, still parched from working. "Emily, I found something, and I thought you would want to know. Ada's little friend, the cat...you said she just appeared a while ago, and you don't know where she came from..."

Emily cocked her head. "Yes, that's right...why?"

"Well, I think I found her. I was on the roof, scraping, and I saw something. I went into the attic and found her body, dried up. She must have got up there somehow, chasing lizards or bats maybe, and got stuck, a long time ago. She had a collar and name tag. Her name was, or _is_ I guess, Maeve…"

Emily was quiet, thoughtful for several moments... When she spoke, she had tears in her eyes. "Maeve… it's lovely. Our little mystery is solved, then. Perhaps Ada was lonely in her world...and when the poor little thing expired, she invited her to join her."

"I guess. I left it as I found it. I didn't want to do anything that might change things."

She wiped her tears, leaving a smear of wet clay on her cheeks. "Thank-you, Dean." she said quietly. "I am very, very glad to know this. Thank-you..." She smiled with embarrassment at her emotions, and reached out a hand to touch his face. He let her, staying still as she followed the contours. "You're a fine person, Dean. Don't ever forget that."

He thanked her awkwardly, and made his excuse to leave, uncomfortable with the intensity of her touch. She beamed at him and waved as she heard him leave.

Sam constantly pestered him to help, to relieve him of some of the work. But to Dean, this wasn't a task so much as a vocation. He loved the job, seeing and facilitating the transformation from decrepit relic to a charming house reborn. When the project was finally complete, and he could find nothing at all that needed his attention, he felt a sense of loss. He called the cousins to see the result. Sally was ecstatic, it was exactly what she had pictured. She carefully described the renewal to Emily, who was able to envision it, as well as Ada's happiness.

"Oh, Dean, it looks wonderful! I know Ada must be pleased." Sally said, her eyes moist.

He grinned shyly as Sally held Emily's hand and stood back to take it in fully.

"You know you boys are always welcome here, right? You don't have to scrape paint to earn your keep everytime. We know Ada must adore you. You won't rush away just because the painting is done, will you?"

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. They were grateful of their time here, and for the knowledge that they were welcome to return… But they knew they should start thinking about getting back on the road. This place, and its people, its spirits, would always be a sanctuary. But they didn't want to jeopardize the cousins' peaceful life. Both were appreciative of the time they had been allowed to heal, to strengthen and renew. But they were still very aware of their fugitive status, and the dangers their association presented. Both vowed that no one would ever be forced to suffer as a result of helping them. The time had come to leave this place.

Sally was trying to remain stoic on the day of their departure. Emily had no such false pride and she shed her tears without shame.

"Please...Sam, Dean...come back to us. Promise us." Sally asked.

They did promise. Their lives were chaotic, filled with danger, and threat. They would both keep this sanctuary in their hearts. Dean hugged a weepy Emily. "So, what is my aura saying now?"

She refused to answer. "Just be careful. Be safe. And come back to us."

Sam did likewise, and the two climbed into the Impala. "Thanks, for everything. We will see you again."

The Impala's engine roared to life and they left. Both brothers spent the next few hours in contemplative silence.

The world was a mess. But good people would be its redemption, and theirs as well...

-End.


End file.
